~[<Do@> 


WAS 


POEMS 


BY 


DAVID    ATWOOD    WASSON 


"  Beyond  is  all  abyss, 
Eternity,  whose  end  no  eye  can  reach. 
Greatly  instructed  I  shall  hence  depart, 
Greatly  in  peace  of  thought " 


BOSTON 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD    PUBLISHERS 

10  MILK  STREET  NEXT  OLD  SOUTH  MEETING-HOUSE 
1888 


COPYRIGHT,  1887, 
BY  LEE  AND    SHEPARD. 

All  rights  reserved. 


PREFACE. 


MR.  WASSON'S  poems  have  long  been  known  and 
greatly  prized  try  many.  From  magazines  and  news 
papers,  some  of  them  have  found  their  v?a.y  to  choice 
collections  of  poems,  like  the  "Parnassus"  of  Mr. 
Emerson. 

"All's  Well"  is  a  classic,  and  stands  unrivalled  in 
American  poetry,  for  its  exquisite  beauty,  its  far-reaching 
spiritual  insight,  its  depth  of  faith,  its  joy  of  hope. 

Yet  thus  scattered,  the  poems  have  received  far  less 
recognition  than  they  deserve.  Mr.  Wasson  was  often 
urged  to  collect  and  publish  them,  and  he  evidently  made 
some  preparation  for  doing  so  ;  but  the  hand  of  disease 
was  always  heavy  upon  him,  and  this  task  was  left  un 
finished.  By  his  will  he  confided  it  to  me,  and  I  have 
sought  to  carry  it  out  according  to  his  wishes. 

Many  of  the  manuscript  poems  have  not  received  his 
last  careful  touches,  and  frequent  changes  show  how 
scrupulously  he  sought  to  give  the  best  expression  to  his 


2  P  RE FACE. 

thought.  But  while  he  valued  the  graces  of  rhythm  and 
the  beauty  of  words,  the  deep  thought  and  the  vivid 
imagery  came  iirst  to  his  mind  ;  and  it  is  not  strange  that 
we  sometimes  find  a  defective  line  or  a  rough  form.  I 
have  not  ventured  to  change  any  thing,  however ;  believ 
ing  that  all  readers  would  rather  come  close  to  his  thought 
by  a  rugged  wa}T,  than  miss  it  by  a  smooth  one. 

I  have  sometimes  given  a  name  to  a  poem  for  con 
venience  of  reference. 

The  poems  naturally  arrange  themselves  in  three 
groups.  First  are  three  long  poems.  The  "  Orpheus  " 
reproduces  the  classic  myths,  to  indicate  retribution  for 
that  faithlessness  which  looks  backward  instead  of  for 
ward.  It  has  never  been  published  before. 

"The  Confession"  w.as  published  in  "The  Radical." 
How  far  it  reveals  a  personal  experience,  is  unknown  ; 
but  it  tells  how  the  recognition  of  the  highest  human 
ideal,  through  love,  changes  the  whole  of  life,  from  doubt 
and  evil  to  faith  and  joy. 

"The  Babes  of  God,"  as  it  seemed  obvious  to  name  it, 
is  the  most  striking  and  important  of  these  poems.  It 
was  written  in  early  manhood,  when  life  was  full  of  hard 
problems,  both  mental  and  practical.  It  was  partly 
written,  laid  asidt,  and  again  resumed;  but  he  never 
published  it,  or  completed  the  oopjT  he  had  begun.  But 


PREFACE.  3 

there  is  no  doubt  that  it  was  the  poem  which  he  hoped 
would  express  to  others  the  height  and  depth  of  his 
thought.  It  is  metaphysical,  and  we  may  trace  in  it  the 
doctrines  of  various  schools  of  thought  which  he  had 
made  his  own  ;  but  it  is  far  more  a  glowing,  imaginative 
conception,  which  takes  hold  of  the  realities  of  permanent 
life  with  a  vividness  which  we  cannot  hesitate  to  com 
pare  with  that  of  Milton's  masterpiece.  His  admiration 
of  Milton  spurred  him  in  his  task  of  presenting  a  deeper 
solution  of  the  great  problem  of  evil  than  that  of  the 
popular  Church. 

The  poem  is  unequal  in  expression  and  execution,  but 
the  height  and  unity  of  conception  are  held  throughout. 
We  see  the  blessed  spirits  treading  the  ether,  and  listen 
to  their  high  converse,  as,  awestruck,  but  with  undaunted 
courage,  they  go  voluntarily  to  meet  the  vast  cloud  of 
evil  and  struggle  which  looms  up  dark  and  fearful  over 
the  horizon  of  infinity.  But  the  ic  Babes  of  God"  are 
already  human  :  we  recognize  in  them  relation  and  indi 
viduality  ;  and  we  cannot  help  thinking,  that,  in  the 
younger  spirit,  he  had  in  thought  the  poet  and  philosopher, 
who,  dwelling  familiarly  among  us.  yet  never  seemed  to 
have  lost  the  atmosphere  of  his  immortal  home. 

The  sonnets  touch  on  man}"  and  varied  themes.  Some 
of  these  show  his  deep  interest  in  the  struggle  of  the 


4  Pit  E  FACE. 

civil  war.  On  all  historical  and  political  questions,  Mr. 
Wasson  thought  deeply  and  felt  keenly  ;  and  he  did  not 
stint  his  expressions  of  confidence,  scorn,  or  indignation. 
He  was  utterly  true  and  thoroughly  brave.  Differences 
of  opinion  were  never  withheld,  but  they  never  stood 
in  the  way  of  tender  and  trusting  relations  with  his 
friends. 

In  some  of  the  sonnets  and  in  the  other  poems,  we  are 
interested  in  the  revelations  of  his  own  nature  and  history. 
The  ;'  Sanded  Floor"  preserves  the  child's  precious,  only 
memory  of  the  mother  too  etirly  lost ;  and  the  poems  to 
14  Our  Only  "  reveal  the  joy  and  pride  of  the  father's 
heart. 

His  exquisite  delight  in  Nature  is  most  plainly  shown. 
Nature  was  full  of  spirit  to  him.  His  special  thought 
of  life  was  the  growth  from  within.  It  is  the  inward 
which  forms  the  outward.  Of  the  "  heart-lit  sages," 
he  says, — 

"  These  spirits  all  are  lucent  from  the  centre." 

So  the  principle  of  evolution  was  to  him  a  spiritual  fact, 
perpetually  revealing  itself  in  every  beautiful,  changing 
phase  of  outward  form. 

But  the  most  remarkable  trait  of  these  poems  is  their 
glorious  optimism.  His  plummet  can  sound  the  depths 


PEE  FACE.  O 

of  sin  and  evil,  but  it  always  finds  their  limitation. 
While  the  notes  of  joy  or  sorrow  are  sounding,  the 
eternal  eye,  of  which 

"OKI  Xight  is  but  the  iris  dark," 

is  ever  vigilant. 

"  All's  Well  "  might  seem  to  be  the  joyous  strain  of  a 
heart  which  had  known  nothing  but  earth's  highest  happi 
ness  ;  but  in  truth  it  was  the  song  of  a  suffering  invalid, 


ERRATA. 

Page  5,  line  12,  add  the  word  "abysm,"  =  to  read  — 

"  Mad  thrills  ran  riot  through  the  black  abysm." 
The  same  omission  occurs  in  last  line  but  one,  page  52. 


comiort  me  despairing. 

While  the  re-action  from  excitement,  on  his  sensitive 
nerves,  often  produced  the  most  intense  dejection,  this 
mood  hardly  appears  in  his  poetry  :  mental  activity  drove 
away  the  fiend,  and  he  rose  to  that  height  of  contempla 
tion  where  he  saw  that  "  all  was  good." 

Even  when  blindness  closed  in  upon  his  life,  it  did  not 


Pit  E  FACE. 


civil  war.  On  all  historical  and  political  questions,  Mr. 
Wasson  thought  deeply  and  felt  keenly  ;  and  he  did  not 
stint  his  expressions  of  confidence,  scorn,  or  indignation. 
He  was  utterly  true  and  thoroughly  brave.  Differences 
of  opinion  were  never  withheld,  but  they  never  stood 
in  the  way  of  tender  and  trusting  relations  with  his 
friends. 

In  some  of  the  sonnets  and  in  the  other  poems,  we  are 
interested  in  the  revelations  of  his  own  nature  and  history. 


"These  spirits  all  are  lucent  from  the  centre." 

So  the  principle  of  evolution  was  to  him  a  spiritual  fact, 
perpetually  revealing  itself  in  every  beautiful,  changing 
phase  of  outward  form. 

But  the  most  remarkable  trait  of  these  poems  is  their 
glorious  optimism.  His  plummet  can  sound  the  depths 


PEE  FACE.  O 

of  sin  and  evil,  but  it  always  finds  their  limitation. 
While  the  notes  of  joy  or  sorrow  are  sounding,  the 
eternal  eye,  of  which 

"OL1  Xight  is  but  the  iris  dark,'' 

is  ever  vigilant. 

;i  All's  Well  "  might  seem  to  be  the  joyous  strain  of  a 
heart  which  had  known  nothing  but  earth's  highest  happi 
ness  ;  but  in  truth  it  was  the  song  of  a  suffering  invalid, 
who  had  almost  exhausted  the  capacity  of  the  human 
body  to  bear  anguish  and  pain.  How  keenly  he  felt 
them,  is  shown  in  two  lines  of  "  The  Babes  of  God,"  — 

"  Mad  thrills  ran  riot  through  the  black 
Like  crazy  spasms  of  sick  nerves  in  men." 

This  poem  is  the  triumph  of  the  spirit,  the  spirit  to 
which  "  ultimate  is  present  good."  This  spirit  lias 
given  to  his  words  power  to  strengthen  the  suffering,  and 
comfort  the  despairing. 

While  the  re-action  from  excitement,  on  his  sensitive 
nerves,  often  produced  the  most  intense  dejection,  this 
mood  hardly  appears  in  his  poetry  :  mental  activity  drove 
away  the  fiend,  and  he  rose  to  that  height  of  contempla 
tion  where  he  saw  that  ;i  all  was  good." 

Even  when  blindness  closed  in  upon  his  life,  it  did  not 


G  PREFACE. 

darken  his  soul,  but  only  deepened  his  love  and  gratitude 
to  those  who  were  "eyes  to  the  blind."  The  sonnet  to 
C.  W.  II.  reveals  how  truly  he  was  ministered  unto  in 
this  trial. 

I  will  not  dwell  upon  the  story  of  his  life.  We  wait 
for  it  from  the  pen  of  one  whose  clear  intellect  and 
unbiassed  judgment  will  give  us  the  living  picture  of  him, 
even  as  he  was.  But  this  much  seemed  needful  to  give 
the  reader  a  position  from  which  he  could  rightly  read  the 
meaning  of  these  poems,  —  the  genuine  expression  of  a 
great  and  beautiful  soul. 

Like  the  drawings  of  a  great  master,  they  draw  us 
nearer  to  him  than  the  scholarly  essays  which  have  given 
him  his  position  as  one  of  the  greatest  thinkers  of  our 

time. 

E.  D.  C. 

JAMAICA  PLAIN,   1887. 


CONTENTS. 


ORPHEUS jj_ 

THE  BABES  OF  GOD 21 

THE  CONFESSION 56 

SONNETS. 

To  A  THEOLOGICAL  OPPONENT 72 

TIME'S  HOUSEHOLD 73 

GREAT  LOVE 74 

EXPRESSION 75 

To  OUR  ONLY  : 

I.   XIGHT 70 

II.   MORNING 77 

LOVE  AGAINST  LOVE 78 

To  G.  L.  S 79 

PRIDE $0 

7 


8  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

NATURAL  SELECTION 81 

ROYALTY 82 

DEFIANCE 83 

To  THE  FIFTY-FOURTH  REGT.  MASS.  VOLS 84 

To  PRESIDENT  JOHNSON  : 

1 85 

II 86 

To  CHARLES  SUMNER 87 

To  WILLIAM  II.  SEWARD 88 

PEACE.     To  J.  G.  W 89 

DOOM 90 

HAPPINESS 91 

DELIVERANCE.     To  FREMONT  : 

1 92 

II 93 

DELUSION 94 

To  -             95 

To  IRISH-BORN  AMERICANS 97 

To  MRS.  C.  W.  II 98 

SURCEASE 99 

O'ER  THE  SANDED  FLOOR 100 

LOST 102 

THE  BRIDE .     .  103 

GIVE  ME  REST 105 


CONTENTS.  9 

PA(iE 

PHGEBUS-CARLYLE  AND  ADDISOX'S  GHOST  ;  OR,  APOLOGY 

FOR  A  RUGGED  STYLE  : 

I.   ADDISOX'S  GHOST  ADMIRES  AXD  EXPOSTULATES    .  100 

II.   PIKEBUS-CARLYLE  EXPLAIXS 107 

SHIKEEX  AND  THE  BEE 108 

To  DEATH 110 

NOOXTIDK 112 

THE  REVIVAL  PREACHER 110 

NATURE'S  TUNE 118 

To  -             no 

M-YY 120 

THE  SUN 121 

GEORDIE  nutus,  AUG.  27,  1855 123 

ALL'S  WELI 124 

JOY-MONTH 128 

SEEN  AXD  UNSEEN 1.30 

THE  MYSTIC  : 

I.    KNOWLEDGE 134 

II.    LIFE 137 

THE  FLOODS.    «Ix  MEMORY  OF  JOHN  BROWX 139 

VOLUNTEER   SONG.     INSCRIBED   TO   THE    TWENTY-FIFTH 

REGIMENT  M.V 142 

To  GENERAL  —           146 

IN  MEMORY  OF  DR.  S.  F.  HAVEN    .  147 


10  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

IDEALS 149 

THE  PLOVER : 

1 151 

II 153 

SCIPIO  TO  THE  SENATE 155 

TIME  : 

I.   FROM  BELOW 158 

II.   FROM  ABOVE 158 

To  W.  L.  G 159 

NOTES    .  161 


POEMS. 


ORPHEUS. 

I  DID  but  turn  a  moment  ere  I  knew, 

For  she,  my  queen,  my  lost  Eurydice, 

Moved  like  a  zephyr,  as  it  was  her  wont ; 

And  her  light  footfall,  light  as  lids  of  sleep 

Sinking  on  eyes  that  woo  them  to  the  close, 

Scarce  gave  me  token,  as  I  Avent  before, 

That  she  still  followed.     So  it  was  that  once, 

E'en  while  I  chid  my  heart  for  beating,  and  my  breath 

Hated  that  'twould  not  hush,  the  sound,  too  soft, 

Passed  not  my  booming  breast,  nor  reached  the  ear 

Where  all  my  longing  soul  sat  listener. 

Then,  like  a  plummet  from  a  ship,  went  down 

My  heart  in  seas  of  grief;  and  Love,  too  quick 

For  quickest  interception,  leapt  to  stay 

His  anguish  with  a  look.     Scarce  was  it  I, 

My  very  self,  that  did  it ;  but  as  when, 

With  sudden  blaze  of  light,  the  eyelid  falls 


11 


12  ORPHEUS. 

Unbidden  ere  a  thought  or  wish  could  stir, 
So  went  my  glances  backward  ere  I  knew. 
Light  fault,  though  fault  it  were,  to  be  avenged 
With  grief  so  heavy  !     But  the  gods  deny 
Their  favor  cunningly  ;  for  they  delight 
With  countenance  of  grace  to  be  unkind, 
That  of  his  harshest  fortune  man  may  seem 
Himself  inventor,  though  it  be  their  will. 

What  syllables  are  these  that  hiss  from  lips 

Erewhile  not  thus  profaned,  to  brave  the  gods 

With  accusation  false  and  forged  excuse  ! 

Why  did  I  hearken?     For  his  word  was  passed,  — 

Great  Pluto's  word ;  for  lie  had  said,  "  Thy  spouse, 

Eurydice,  shall  folloAV,  if  so  be 

Thou  turnest  not."     And  I,  because  a  doubt 

Murmured  incessant  in  my  breast,  to  do 

His  truth  dishonor,  went  but  with  the  face 

Set  forward  ;  while  my  thought,  suspecting  still, 

Spied  ever  backward,  and  in  pale  distrust 

Its  question  urged,  Doth  he,  a  supreme  god, 

Doth  he  preserve  his  promise  ?     Coward  soul, 

It  was  thyself,  thyself,  that  wrought  thy  woe, 

Not  undeserved.     The  gods  will  greatly  give, 

But  greatness  in  the  taking  can  alone 


ORPHEUS.  13 

Their  gift  make  good.    Yet  thou  wotildst  take,  and  still 

Suspect  the  giver,  and  his  bounty  fell 

With  ill  receiving,  that  the  giving  shamed. 

All  happy  fortune  is  for  credent  souls, 

That,  when  the  gates  of  opportunity 

Stand  open,  enter,  and  look  not  behind. 

But  thou  wouldst  enter  doubting  ;  and  thy  doubt 

Were  as  a  sword  to  smite  with  felon  edge 

Against  that  sacred  bond  that  earth  and  heaven, 

The  manifold  of  things,  in  union  holds. 

For  by  the  truth  of  gods  the  living  all 

Abides  in  peace ;  fixed  in  a  faith  eterne, 

The  stars  do  keep  their  places,  and  the  sun 

Hath  confidence  to  run  with  radiant  wheel 

His  mighty  course.     And  oft  in  happier  times 

Sang  I  the  truth  of  the  immortals,  sure 

Forever ;  sang,  and  bade  the  social  woods, 

The  conscious  streams,  and  far  resounding  sea, 

With  man,  whose  breast  the  muse  inhabits,  join 

To  hymn  in  chorus  through  the  world  the  word 

That  still  through  changing  seasons  and  new  times, 

Through  all  the  fluctuant  to-and-fro  of  things, 

Vex  of  events  and  turns  of  fortune,  holds 

Unbroken,  and  with  its  own  sureness  threads 

The  various  all,  to  make  it  one  and  same. 


14  ORPHEUS. 

Ah,  when  I  turned  me  toward  Eurydice, 
Not  her  alone  I  lost,  but  from  the  Muse 
Myself  averted,  to  be  twice  bereaved  ! 
I  sang  no  more,  unworthy,  and  no  more. 

Yet  wherefore  do  I  lie  against  myself? 

Basest  and  falsest  'mid  the  false  is  he, 

That,  coward-prone,  the  deed  he  has  not  done 

Confesses,  scared  by  seeming  and  the  bark 

Of  evil  fortunes.     Thou  Olympian,  from 

Whose  loins  I  issue,  has  thy  hand  no  bolt 

To  scathe  this  caitiff  conscience  wherewithal, 

This  traitor  conscience,  borrowed  from  the  event, 

Fate's  servile  echo,  that  the  suffering  cause, 

Holy  in  weakness,  flies  ?     Yet  wherefore  cry 

To  Heaven  ?     'Tis  the  trick  of  craven  souls 

To  vex  the  gods  with  importunity, 

Entreating  boons  the  base  petitioner 

But  from  himself  should  seek.     The  gods  love  them 

That  even  against  the  gods,  should  there  be  need, 

Dare  stand  erect,  and  to  themselves  be  just, 

As  I  will  dare.     Down,  lust  of  penitence  ! 

Thou  hypocrite  contrition,  hold  thy  peace, 

Nor  clamor  more  to  flatter  Fate,  and  shame 

Truth  slandered  and  oppressed.     What  mortal  might, 


ORPHEUS.  15 

That  did  I.     For  'tis  not  in  man  to  guide 
His  steps  supremely  ;  for  his  firmest  will 
Is  as  a  helm,  whereto  the  bark,  amid 
Whirlpools  and  warring  tides,  not  always  turns 
Obedient.     But  to  the  god  I  pledged, 
In  perfect  credence,  thought  and  purpose,  all. 
And  though  I  turned,  was  that  my  proper  deed 
Whereof,  alas,  I  knew  not  ere  'twas  done? 

They  that  made  man,  made  error  fleet  of  foot, 
But  judgment  slow  ;  yet  hold  it  vain  excuse 
That  guardian  judgment  with  stretched  sinew  strove, 
And  came  too  late.     The  seeming  deed,  endured, 
Not  done  of  will,  is  weighed,  the  balance  turns. 
Have,  then,  the  eternal  gods  eye  but  to  see 
The  outmost  shell  of  things,  the  wraps  and  veils 
That  Truth  must  wear  to  hide  her  very  face 
From  silly  gazers?     Ear  have  they  to  hear 
The  loud  event,  but  not  the  voice  that  speaks 
With  soft  and  supreme  eloquence  in  faith 
And  purpose  deep  as  life?     Oh,  I  could  blush 
For  them  above  me,  though  their  power  be  great  ! 
For  they,  they  are  not  blinded ;  not  to  them, 
The  all-seeing,  shows,  as  to  a  mortal,  show 
Alone,  their  seeming,  that  indeed  may  be. 


16  ORPHEUS. 


Or  not  be,  what  it  seeitts.     Tk-e  -sceptred  gods 

Are  perfected  with  knowledge  ;  never  they 

Unguided  grope,  lured  on  by  blind  surmise, 

Nor  share  through  tedious  times  the  dull,  slow  creep 

Of  half-eyed  inference,  that,  creeping,  spins 

Its  thread  of  ignorance  and  knowledge  mixed, 

And  learnedly  at  length  concludes  amiss, 

The  gods,  not  we,  have  knowledge.     Ah,  to  see 

Motive  and  purpose,  all,  and  yet  to  judge 

Blindly  the  apparent  act  !     My  lot  is  mine  ; 

I  will  not  lie  to  say  it  is  my  meed. 

Alas,  and  yet  I  doubt  !     For  I  am  one 

By  birth  selected,  and  set  forth  to  be 

More  than  mere  mortal.     Father  Zeus,  thy  blood 

It  is  within  my  veins,  that,  conscious,  through 

The  hard-lipped  feature  of  my  self-excuse 

Blushes  a  shamed  confession.     For  'twas  thou, 

Eternal  unity  and  life  in  all,  — 

Conjoint  with  Memory,  that  has  the  care 

Of  finite  things,  —  who  gav'st  me  ancestry; 

And  in  my  heart  the  mingling  blood  of  both 

Wrought  into  tuneful  oneness  truth  eterne 

And  truth  of  time.     The  lyru  is  dumb,  the  words 

Lie  dead  upon  my  lips,  and  I  am  judged. 


ORPHEUS.  17 

Oh,  either  way  defeated  !     If  t  be  true 

The  gods  do  evil,  what  of  good  remains 

Unsullied,  what  of  pure  in  earth  or  heaven  ? 

For  their  dishonor  wraps  in  infamy 

The  heights  they  dwell  on,  and  the  earth  beneath, 

With  all  it  holds.     But  if  their  will  divine 

Be  perfect,  my  excuse,  though  strongly  urged, 

Itself  were  inexcusable.     Behold, 

I  know  not,  but  I  bow  and  cease  dispute ; 

And  if  there  be  a  doubt,  against  myself 

I  here  resolve  it,  lifting  all  my  pride 

To  plant  it  there  above.     Let  Honor  have 

No  death-bed,  nor  with  me  —  a  mortal  —  live  ; 

Only  with  me  to  close  the  lid  at  last, 

And  sleep  in  darkness.     Let  its  home  be  there, 

Where  death,  unprivileged,  and  mortal  change 

Pass  not  the  portal,  but  immortal  life 

Tops  the  wide  world,  in  glory  summited. 

Sweet  unreturning  days,  so  near,  so  far,  - 

Days  of  the  gods,  when  with  Eurvdice, 

In  holy  calm,  beneath  the  oak  I  sat, 

And  told  by  sounding  lyre  and  mounting  word 

What  faith  melodious  sums  the  hurtless  whole, 

Hymned  in  the  harmony  of  earth  and  heaven. 


18  ORPHEUS. 

For  what  I  sang,  that  was  I ;  and  my  soul 
Uttered  itself  in  song,  as  fire  in  flame. 
Then  Memory,  mine  ancestress,  bestowed 
Her  favor ;  and  the  storied  truth  of  time 
Came  winging  to  my  service,  glad  to  bring 
Its  golden  treasure.     But  a  richer  wealth 
Was  given ;  for  Zeus  lived  in  me,  and  his  life 
Gushed  in  the  melody,  and  gave  it  soul. 
For  in  my  heart  the  eveiiiving  One 
Espoused  the  varying  and  eventful  world 
With  kisses  and  sweet  compact,  and  the  whole 
Was  tuned  and  moulded  unto  perfect  law. 
And  ever  'twas  of  this  I  sang,  —  the  law 
That  all  contains,  and  makes  of  many  one ; 
But  makes  them  one  in  featured  severalty, 
Giving  to  each  his  own,  and  unto  each 
Alliance  of  the  ever-perfect  whole. 

Then  how  the  tribes  came  trooping,  by  that  word, 
The  sacred,  sovereign  name  of  Law,  allured ! 
And,  touched  with  its  persuasion,  they  became 
A  living  music  ;  and  their  tuneful  steps 
Mingled  in  measure  of  the  rounded  dance, 
Till  each,  ensphered  within  himself,  was  framed 
To  spheral  fellowship,  attuned  with  all. 


Oil P HE  US.  19 

Ah  !  but  one  fatal  jar  shook  out  of  tune 
The  instrument ;  one  doubt  unconscious  'gainst 
The  faith  that  erst  my  soul  to  music  set 
Hath  all  unstrung ;  and  I,  a  shattered  lyre, 
But  echo  to  the  shock  that  wrought  me  woe. 

And  now,  behold,  these  Thracian  women  come, 
Craving  my  hand  in  marriage  ;  for  they  say 
That  now,  as  of  the  dust,  I  should  receive 
Its  sordid  solace,  therewith  comforted, 
And  bliss  that  was,  and  pain  that  is,  forget. 
And  they  will  give  me  plenitude  of  love 
And  duty  to  my  Avish,  with  home  and  friends 
And  days  of  pleasure,  if  my  heart  but  heed 
Their  hearts'  desire,  and  take  the  spousal  bond. 
But  I  will  not.     The  wine  of  gods  is  spilled,  — 
Is  spilled,  alas,  forever,  from  my  cup  ! 
But  never,  by  a  baser  draught  profaned, 
Shall  it  ascend  to  meet  and  shame  my  lips, 
Howe'er  they  thirst.     Since  only  in  despair 
I  may  be  true  to  birth  and  blood  divine, 
Let  it  have  welcome  ;  be  despair  my  hope 
And  heart's  content.     Delight  is  mine  no  more  ; 
But  better  than  delight  remains, — a  heart 
Abiding  in  its  right  without  reward. 


20 


ORPHEUS. 


I  hear  them  come,  the  raving  rout,  insane 
To  wreak  their  foam-lipped  vengeance  on  my  slight ; 
And,  burdened  with  my  blood,  swift  Hebrus  soon 
Will  run  in  sorrow.     But  I  will  not  change. 

Oh,  exquisite  surprise  of  happiness ! 

The  Muse  descends  to  grace  again  her  son. 

Once  more  for  me  the  sacred  ecstasy, 

Once  more  the  contemplation  infinite 

Divine  beholding,  truth  compelling  truth, 

Proportion  everywhere,  and  measured  line ; 

All  motion  rounds,  returns,  with  meted  lines, 

Permitted  sally,  and  melodious  close. 

Arise,  then,  silent  lyre;  discourse  anew. 

Yea,  it  awakens,  joyous  to  the  touch ; 
And  as  I  freely  sweep  it,  all  that  was 
Or  is  or  shall  be,  all  the  vast  of  earth 
And  heaven,  to  the  ringing  brim  of  space 
Voices  itself  in  music  on  the  string, 
And  I  am  blessed  among  the  blessed  gods, 
That  seem  the  cosmic  whole  in  harmony. 

Smite  as  ye  list,  ye  rude  hands,  hard  as  flint: 
Pain  is  no  longer ;  pain  and  death  are  gone, 
And  changing  times.     Ever  the  whole  is  whole, 
The  one  and  all,  tlio  singer  and  the  song. 


THE  JiABES   OF  GOD.  21 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD. 

.  Book  L 

OF  old  was  in  the  household  of  the  One 
A  troop  of  babes  immortal,  on  this  wise 
Created :  when  the  Omniscient,  looking,  saw 
That  universe  by  which  he  publisheth 
His  thought,  and,  in  his  view  concluding  all, 
Beheld  his  thought  in  all,  the  unity 
Of  truth  eternal,  —  rose  beneath  his  brows 
A  smile,  that  answered  to  his  truth  in  one 
Regarded,  uttering  the  supernal  joy 
Of  Godhood  in  its  thought  to  truth  matured ; 
And  in  the  virtue  of  that  smile  a  life 
Began  to  be.     The  sweetness  in  his  eye 
Went  from  him,  gathering  to  a  glorious  cloud ; 
And  in  that  cloud  a  soul  was  cradled,  which, 
A  miracle  of  beauty,  rose  at  length, 
And  walked  and  worshipped,  —  an  immortal  child. 
Lived  in  this  loveliness,  its  ancestry ; 
Lived  the  significance  of  that  delight 


99 


THE   BABES    OF  GOD. 


Which  kindled  it  to  life, — joy  in  God's  truth, 

Joy  of  intelligence  in  total  truth. 

This  made  it  vital,  gave  it  heavenly  grace. 

Once  in  each  day  of  heaven  the  One  beheld 
His  thought,  and  in  the  recognition  smiled, 
And  in  the  virtue  of  that  smile  begat 
A  blooming  soul.     And  now  the  beauteous  troop 
With  marvellous  laughter  filled  the  house  of  God, 
And  gave  him  back  his  joy  a  thousand  times. 
And  when  the  stars  of  heaven  were  out,  the}r  all 
Laid  at  his  feet  their  shining  comeliness, 
And  slept  the  sleep  of  those  upon  whose  lids, 
And  underneath  them,  is  the  peace  of  God. 
And  when  upon  a  night  that  brought  no  gloom, 
Followed  a  dawning  that  would  bring  no  glare, 
Waking  their  beauty,  went  these  Joys  of  God 
In  chariots  of  his  eye-beams,  to  career 
Through  the  sweet  kingdoms  of  the  blessed ;  each 
Renewing  still  the  mystery  of  his  birth, 
Beholding  truth,  —  how  happy  in  the  sight! 
So  was  it  for  a  thousand  years  of  heaven. 

But  when  a  thousand  years  of  heaven  were  gone, 
There  came  a  day  whereon  the  eldest  born 
Looked  on  the  truth,  and  felt  within  his  heart 
A  want,  and  'mid  his  great  felicity 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD.  23 

Sighed.     Never  until  then  a  sigh  was  heard 

In  heaven.     Not  the  down  upon  the  wings 

Of  butterflies  had  floated  on  that  sigh, 

So  light,  so  inward,  breathed  but  in  a  thought, 

Nor  guessed  of  by  the  outward  air ;  yet  all 

The  troop  immortal  heard  it,  trembled  all 

In  hearing ;  then  around  their  brother  flocked, 

And  cried,  ki  O  brother,  brother!"  —  in  their  eyes 

A  nameless  question  that  they  could  not  shape. 

And  he  :  *•  I  know  not,  brothers,  what  it  is ; 
And  yet  it  is,  —  a  v.ant  amid  my  bliss, 
Some  want  amid  this  plenitude  of  bliss/' 

Thereon  the  youngest,  whose  two  eyes  were  like 
Two  morning  stars  set  in  the  silver  front 
Of  dawn,  a  bird-like  voice  uplifted  clear, 
And  carolled,  "Brothers,  I  am  full  of  joy. 
Oh,  as  a  fountain  flowing  to  a  stream 
That  grows  a  river,  bearing  argosies, 
And  watering  kingdoms,  so  to  me  my  heart 
Within  me  !     Yet  in  vision  I  behold 
That  which  my  bosom  may  not  feel.     1  know 
There  is  for  us  a  destiny  beyond 
This  blessedness,  — a  blessedness  more  deep, 
More  grand.     How  sweet,  how  awful  in  its  depth! 
I  see,  moreover,  with  my  eye,  not  feel 


24  TUE  BABES   OF  GOD. 

In  heart,  that,  ere  we  come  to  that  estate, 

We  travel  through  the  realms  of  toil  and  pain." 

Whereat  they  shuddered,  though  they  knew  not 

why : 

"And  what  is  toil?     And  tell  us  what  is  pain  ?" 
Pleaded  that  audience,  hanging  on  his  words. 

"  I  cannot  tell,  I  do  not  wholly  know," 

He  answered;  "yet  against  the  wish  it  is. 

But  why  the  question  ?     'Tis  enough  to  know 

There  is  a  higher  than  this  high,  a  bliss 

Beyond  the  exceeding  blessedness  we  have, 

Action  more  worthy,  duty  nobler,  life 

More  godlike,  more  significant.     To  this 

Our  choices  must  be  lifted,  let  the  road 

That  leadeth  to  it  be  rough  or  smooth,  be  long 

Or  short,  or  what  it  may."     And  all  said,  "  Yes." 

With  instant  unison,  in  silver  chime, 

They  warbled,  "  Yes,  we  do  elect  the  best, 

Let  be  the  journey  thither  what  it  may. 

Who  chooseth  not  the  perfect,  chooseth  base : 

For  good  is  bad,  to  better  good  preferred : 

And  truth  is  falsehood,  when  diviner  truth 

Wins  not  the  heart,  though  seen."     And  one  went  on 


THE  BABES    OF  GOD.  25 

Declaring,  "  Should  a  soul  that  had  pursued 
The  perfect  for  a  thousand  aeons,  then 
Refuse  an  excellence  beyond,  of  will 
Refuse  one  shade,  one  tint  or  touch  of  truth 
And  excellence  more  perfect,  he  would  fall, 
That  moment  fall,  from  his  celestial  height 
Plumb  to  the  nadir."     And  all  murmured,  "  Yes.'* 

And  then  the  eldest  born :  "  There  is  a  grove 
Near  by  the  splendor  of  the  One ;  and  there 
Daily  a  company  of  wisest  spirits, 
Majestic,  meek,  and  sage,  unite  their  hearts. 
Wondrous  in  aspect  they,  for  in  their  looks 
Immortal  age,  immortal  youth,  become 
The  same,  —  one  glory,  greatness,  grace  divine, 
As  if  their  youth  gave  wisdom,  years  gave  bloom. 
The  locks  that  ripple  round  their  brows,  or  down 
The  neck,  have  but  the  hue  of  whitest  light: 
As  light  unto  a  texture  wrought  they  seem, 
Flowing  about  a  face  that  still  outshines  it. 

These  spirits  all  are  lucent  from  the  centre  ; 
The  perfect  truth  of  God  from  out  their  hearts 
Streams  in  immortal  flame,  —  through  eye,  from  lip 
And  brow,  by  all  the  effluence  of  the  life. 
Daily  they  meet  and  multiply  their  truth 


THE   BAJiES    Or  GOD. 

Unto  each  other :  by  their  presence,  by 
The  art,  the  eloquence  of  words,  by  arts 
Of  many  marvellous  kinds,  they  represent 
Truth  in  its  beauty,  beauty  in  its  good, 
The  thought  of  God  in  all  its  pure  consent. 
In  grandest  gladness  so  they  live  and  work. 
Let  us  go  to  them,  pray  enlightening/' 

And  one  responded,  in  whose  brooding  eyes 
Thought  sat  at  feast  perpetual :  "  Let  us  go. 
These  heart-lit  sages  I  have  also  seen  ; 
Have  bowed  before  their  high  divinity. 
Nothing  to  them  is  either  young  or  old, 
Or  small  or  great.     Existence  they  regard 
With  equal,  yet  how  reverential,  eyes,  — 
The  fellow  of  a  grass-blade,  of  a  sphere 
The  fellow.     They  in  the  kingdom  of  the  all 
Are  named  c  The  Peers.'     Eternity  is  where 
They  are  ;  for  their  *  To-day '  is  absolute, 
Crowned  with  the  grace  of  immortality. 
And  also  I  have  noted  wherein  lies 
Their  eminence,  so  far  exceeding  ours. 
For  they  are  fountains  of  the  truth  eterne  : 
We  are  but  mirrors.     In  our  hearts,  I  know, 
Full  surely  know,  the  truth  of  God  is  globed: 


THE   BABjEX    OF  GOD.  27 

The  virtue  of  our  birth  so  far  avails  ; 

And  hence  that  ecstasy  when  on  the  truth 

( )ur  visions  turn.     Tis  globed,  not  kindled  yet. 

The  lain})  is  ready  ;  now  we  wait  the  fire. 

And  when  the  lamp  is  lighted,  then  the  truth 

Shall  stream  in  us,  in  us  create  itself 

Forever,  and  in  us  the  mystery 

Of  the  beginning  and  the  end  will  roll 

Its  perfect  circle  evermore.     For  this. 

This  is  the  secret  of  the  all,  —  in  each 

Perfected  life  the  whole  is  new  created, 

In  every  moment  is  create  anew 

Perpetual,  myriad  fold;  creation  runs, 

Renews,  and  multiplies  itself  for  aye. 

The  lamp  of  the  Beginning  waits  to  burn 

In  every  breast.     Whence  may  we  bring  the  fire? 

But  they,  the  clear,  majestic  Masters  whom 

We  seek,  they  know  :   for  they  possess.     Their  eyes 

Are  not  mere  rooms  to  which  the  truth  may  come 

And  sit  and  give  them  honor,  but  are  halls 

Where  king  meets  king  with  level  greeting :  one 

From  either  door  they  enter,  join  their  hands, 

And  give  majestic  welcome  ;   while  the  grace 

Of  either  streams  anew,  yet  more  divine. 

They  are  the  truth  divinely  published,  they 


28  THE  BABES   OF  GOD. 

The  living  missals  of  the  One :  Ave  are 
But  readers  of  a  page  already  writ." 
And  then  they  all  in  chorus :   "  Let  us  g*o, 
And  learn  how  life  may  run  its  perfect  course." 

Through  the  sweet  air  with  gentle  zeal  they  went, 
And,  coming  to  the  grove,  beheld  the  Peers, 
Calm  and  majestic :  not  a  star  so  strong 
To  run  upon  its  orbit,  as  their  hearts 
To  live,  achieve,  and  have  divine  repose 
Amid  achieving ;  not  the  evening  star 
So  tender  in  its  beaming,  as  their  hearts 
In  love.     And  they  who  looked  upon  them  saw, 
From  brain  and  bosom,  stream,  in  many  forms, 
In  many  colored  marvellous  effluence 
Of  light,  the  meaning  of  the  universe, 
Begotten  evermore  within  the  breast, 
And  evermore  by  deed,  word,  look,  evolved. 
Here,  smitten  by  a  blessed  awe,  they  stayed 
The  step,  and  beautiful  in  silence  stood. 

Then  one  of  that  majestic  company 
Rose,  went  benignly,  and  with  such  a  smile 
As  summer  skies  bestow  on  summer  fields, 
Said,  "  Glorious  Babes  of  God,  your  errand  here 
Is  known  ere  spoken ;  for  your  time  is  come. 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD.  29 

Know  then,  ye  beautiful,  that  only  'mid 
The  darkness,  where  the  Night  her  sceptre  holds, 
Shall  first  your  inward  lamp  be  lighted  :  there 
Stumbling  through  gloom,  in  sorrow,  ye  shall  seek 
To  your  own  hearts  for  guidance  ;  ye  shall  cry, 
*O  Heart,  O  Heart !     The  way?  where  is  the  way  ?  ' 
And  with  your  seeking,  it  shall  grow  to  flame, 
And  answer  your  desire.     For  life,  divine  ones, 
Life  answers  unto  need,  — brings  out  its  wealth 
But  when  occasion  calls :  where  is  no  need, 
Is  no  producing.     All  beginnings,  all, 
Through  all  the  universe,  obtain  their  truth 
From  the  same  mother-birth  from  sacred  Need. 

Now,  therefore,  must  ye  enter  on  a  state 
Where  limitation  shall  surround  you,  press 
Upon  you,  seek  to  make  you  all  its  own. 
Darkness,  the  limitation  of  the  eye  ; 
Hindrance,  the  limitation  of  the  will ; 
False  promptings,  blind  misleadings,  partial  lights, 
Pain,  pleasure,  all  the  sense  of  self,  —  these  all, 
And  all  the  arms  of  all  the  elements, 
Shall  clasp  your  spirits  in  their  wild  embrace, 
And  seek  a  victory  o'er  the  God  in  you. 
And  while  you  struggle,  while  you  vindicate 
Celestial  lineage,  Virtue  will  begin, 


•50  77/7?    11  AUKS    OF  GOD. 

Of  Godhood  and  of  Limitation  born,  — 

Virtue,  the  marvel  of  the  universe, 

Created  in  the  heart :  not  light,  not  truth 

Alone  ;  but  truth  to  force,  to  life,  sublimed, 

Vital,  creative,  infinite  in  worth, 

The  very  secret  of  the  heart  of  God, 

Established  in  another  centre,  —  there 

Begotten  in  its  perfect  mystery, 

And  syllabled  in  full  significance. 

And  all  the  stars  with  eye  and  ear  entranced 

Look  on  to  see  the  eternal  miracle, 

And  bend  to  hear  the  all-enrapturing  rune." 

He  ended  Avith  a  look  such  as  had  been 
Compassionate,  save  that  it  went  so  far. 
And  over-leaping  pity,  found  content 
In  foresight  of  that  fruit  of  destiny, 
Divinely  sweet,  wherein  its  purpose  rounds. 
As  looks  the  sower  on  his  scattered  seed 
That  soon  dark  earth  will  cover,  and  beholds 
In  fancy,  not  the  burial  near  at  hand. 
But  spiring  wheat-blades,  yellowing  ears,  ripe  sheaves, 
And  harvest-homes,  full  barns  and  garners  rich, 
.And  rosy,  hungry  children  at  the  board 
Well  cheered  :  so  did  the  heavenly  sage  beyond 
Immediate  pain  discern  the  immortal  good. 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD.  31 

Then  all  the  troop  with  sweetest  reverence 
Murmured  him  thanks,  that  lingered  on  the  lip, 
And  melted  into  silence,  eloquent 
Of  homage  ;  so  withdrew  in  sober  muse, 
Yet  sure  of  heart.     As  one  in  re  very  goes, 
That  hastening  to  a  ship  will  sail  at  once 
For  lands  beyond  the  line  ;  his  eager  will 
Before  him  runs,  anticipates  his  steps, 
And  is  already  spreading  canvas,  o'er 
The  sea  careering,  running  down  the  trades, 
Far  shores  descrying :  but  beside  his  hearth 
In  love  and  fancy  yet  he  lingers,  there 
Kisses  his  babes,  and  takes  them  on  his  knee, 
And  folds  them  to  his  heart ;  a  sweet  regret 
Fills  all  his  bosom,  but  his  clear  resolve 
Not  wreakens,  nor  his  firm  and  cheerful  stride 
Robs  of  alacrity :  so  pensive  they, 
Pensive  and  pondering  greatly,  yet  undimmed 
In  heart  and  will,  and  with  a  cheerful  speed, 
Bore  through  the  luminous  air  their  angel  blooms, 
Their  looks  of  love  seraphic  and  great  hope, 
Until  they  came  before  the  One,  and  stood. 
There  they  a  space  were  silent,  not  through  fear, 
But  for  a  time,  of  special  wish  or  plan 
All  blessedly  beguiled,  so  flooded  them 


32  THE  BABES   OF  GOD. 

Joy  of  that  presence  and  divine  content : 
Then,  as  at  eventide  day  fades  from  heaven, 
And  twilight,  sweet  and  sober,  follows  on, 
And  through  the  twilight  look  the  growing  stars, 
Yet  growing,  so  about  their  faces  fell 
Shadows  of  meditation,  and  through  these 
Shone  slowly  out  their  new-born  purposes. 
And  then  the  eldest,  slight  advancing,  raised 
A  reverent  cry,  and  speaking,  poured  his  prayer : 

"  O  Father,  let  us  go ;  for  Ave  abide 
In  a  mere  infancy,  although  divine, 
Till  we  come  victors  through  the  realm  of  Night, 
Till  we  through  shrouds  of  elemental  force 
Push  the  persuasion  of  our  purest  life. 
Sweet  to  lie  thus  in  the  lap  of  heaven ; 
But  better  far  the  founts  of  heaven  to  feed, 
Be  factors  of  the  truth  our  eyes  behold. 
Service  we  know  is  highest ;  and  we  seek 
The  worth  of  ministry,  the  comeliness 
Of  use.     Suns  would  we  be,  not  merely  moons, 
And  in  our  hearts  would  hold  the  mystery 
Of  thy  begotten  light ;  nor  shine,  as  now, 
Only  as  slimed  upon,  not  luminous. 
Noblest  it  is  to  serve,  we  know,  nor  aught 
Beside  ennobling ;  growth  and  use  are  wed 


THE  BABES    OF  GOD.  33 

In  thine  appointment  perfect.     We  would  grow ; 
Mightier  would  be  to  reproduce  thy  thought, 
Larger  would  be  as  vessels  of  thy  love. 
O  Father,  let  us  go ;  let  us  fulfil 
The  largest,  deepest  destiny  of  life, 
And,  floating  011  the  tides  of  thine  intent, 
Come  with  thy  rounding  purpose  unto  fruit, 
And  ripen  with  a  ripening  universe/' 

And  he  :  "  Not  wholly  know  my  babes,  my  joys, 
Fruits  of  my  heart,  the  scope  of  their  desire ; 
For  awful  are  the  blisses  of  a  God, 
And  deep  the  glooms,  and  fearful,  where  have  root 
The  cosmic  harvests,  that  shall  fill  the  skies 
With  golden  plenty  and  eternal  gloom. 
Yet  go,  my  babes,  fulfil  your  destiny. 
With  me  a  thousand  years  are  as  one  day, 
And  ultimate  is  present  good.     Go  forth." 

They  went,  and  felt  his  love  lie  on  them  warm 
In  going,  and  were  gladdened  in  their  hearts. 
Soon  forth  into  the  spaces  pure  they  fared  ; 
While  underneath  their  feet  the  ether  spread 
Ineffable  support,  sufficing  for 
Their  airy  tread  as  roads  of  adamant 


34  THE  BABES   OF  GOD. 

For  mortal  weight.     And  ever  as  they  beat 

With  rhythmic  footfall  on  the  viewless  floor, 

Replied  a  silver  resonance  of  tone 

Purer  than  purest  chime  of  vesper  bells ; 

Waves  of  melodious  cheer,  arising,  ran 

Into  the  dying  distance,  till  they  broke 

With  tender  fall  on  crystal  shores  afar ; 

And  all  the  bosom  of  immensity 

Thrilled  like  a  virgin's,  hearing  vows  of  love 

Breathed  from  the  lips  that  bear  her  destiny. 

Then  they,  with  voices  yet  diviner,  sang,  — 

Sang  of  the  bond  of  unity  that  all 

Begirds,  —  zenith  and  nadir  ;  heaven  and  hell ; 

Peace,  war ;  and  love  and  wrath ;  and  burning  prayer 

And  icy  mockery ;  desire  that  soars, 

Desire  that  dens  and  dives,  —  encircles  all, 

And  binds  of  all  the  sheaf  immortal,  good 

Beyond  the  name  of  goodness ;  sang  the  Eye 

Of  which  Old  Night  is  but  the  iris  dark, 

Whose  seeing  is  the  living  universe, 

In  the  act  of  sight  created ;  sang  the  Heart, 

Whose  throbs  are  avatars ;  sang  Destiny, 

Seething  in  fire  at  centre  of  a  world, 

To  ripen  continents,  green  hills  and  vales, 

And  cities,  and  the  graces  of  a  life 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD.  35 

Intelligent  upon  its  breast ;  sang  Good 

That  still  implies,  and  still  consumes,  the  bad, 

As  on  dark  fuel  feeds  the  shining  flame. 

Singing  they  journeyed ;  and  through  all  the  deep, 

Kesporisive  to  their  joyance,  every  star 

Beat  like  a  pulse  in  throbs  of  sweeter  light. 

As  bees  that  fly  from  flowers  home  to  the  hive, 
All  honey-laden,  so  from  fragrant  lips 
Their  tuneful  testimonies  flew,  flew  home, 
And  stored  their  preciousness  in  that  great  breast, 
That  hives  the  honey  of  the  universe, 
And  feeds  their  hunger  who  his  garner  fill. 

Book  EL 

FAR  through  the  ethereal  spaces,  silver  clear, 
The  course  of  those  immortal  babes  of  God, 
Seraphic  song-birds  of  the  universe,  — 
So  soon  the  burden  of  a  universe 
In  sterner  sense  to  bear,  — had  stretched  away; 
For  they  with  speed  had  gone,  though  with  a  speed 
So  pure  of  pain  and  labor,  blended  so 
With  their  hilarity,  it  seemed  repose, 
And  lost  the  name  of  swiftness.     Sweet  their  song, 
And  sweet  the  thoughts  that  nestled  in  their  hearts, 


36  THE  BABES   OF  GOD. 

Piping  fine  echoes  through  their  bosoms  blest ; 
And  sweet  the  ecstasy  that  rapt  them  all 
Into  a  heavenly  forgetfulness 
Of  past  and  future,  fortune,  time,  and  change. 
They  knew  but  Being,  —  Being  and  its  bloom, 
That  Beauty  is  ;  and  Good  that  is  its  end  ; 
And  Love  its  impulse,  and  its  order  Truth. 
Being  they  saw,  and  seeing  it  divine, 
Adorable  in  divineness,  poured  in  song 
Ecstatic  recognition,  unaware 
Of  all  but  God  without  and  God  within,  — 
Love,  Beauty,  Good,  and  Truth,  and  Joy, 
Around,  above,  beneath,  and  in  their  souls. 

Now,  one  among  the  foremost,  looking  up 
By  chance,  with  horror  saw,  in  farthest  sky 
Fronting  their  course,  a  troublous  film  of  cloud,  — 
A  strange,  dark,  troublous,  ominous  film  of  cloud,  - 
Blearing  the  beauty  of  the  crystal  wall. 
His  song  upon  his  lip  froze  at  the  sight ; 
And,  hardly  gaining  breath,  he  shivered  out 
A  cry,  with  pointed  finger,  "  Lo,  the  cloud  !  " 
And,  "  Lo,  the  cloud  !  the  cloud  !  "  they  all,  — at  once 
The  song  suspending.     With  the  song  their  feet 
Stopped,  and  were  still,  chained   to    the   place,  the 
while 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD.  37 

Their  eyes  questioned  the  omen.     Far  away 

To  either  side,  beyond  all  vision,  stretched 

The  brooding  blackness.     Far  away,  this  way 

And  that,  to  visions  bound,  their  eyes  pursued, 

And  asked,  and  asked  what  was  the  portent ;  had 

Small  answer,  yet  more  answer  than  they  wished. 

Too  well  they  knew  it  signified  the  term 

Of  that  sweet  infant  life,  that  life  of  birds 

And  flowers,  of  bloom  and  song  and  careless  ease. 

Nor  did  their  foresight  of  the  fact  avail 

To  cushion  it  more  softly  on  their  hearts 

In  aspect ;  for  the  mightiest  verities 

Of  all  experience,  however  oft 

Fancy  anticipate  them,  howe'er  well 

Depict  their  image,  prove  in  the  event 

Surprises,  —  smite  the  soul  with  shock  of  newness, 

That  makes  expectancy  forgotten  quite. 

Awhile  the  immortals  stood,  hushed  as  the  grave,  — 
Hushed  like  a  man,  that,  on  his  marriage  morn, 
Goes  forth  in  trance  of  happy  thoughts,  to  meet 
His  waiting  bride  ;  sudden  a  hollow  voice 
Startles  him  ;  he  looks  up,  and  sees  a  face 
Whose  rigid  lines  possess  a  thousand  tongues 
To  sa}*,  "  Thy  bride  is  dead."     He  looks,  and  reads 
At  once  the  blotting  of  his  bliss,  yet  looks 


38  THE  BABES   OF  GOD. 

And  tries  to  spell  the  letters  otherwise ; 

But,  striving  thus  to  unread,  reads,  "Thy  bride  is 

dead, 

Thy  bliss  is  blotted  out."     So  did  they  gaze 
On  this  apparent  grave  of  all  their  bliss, 
This  sudden-yawning  sepulchre  of  heaven. 

Then  one  with  tender  eyes,  in  tender  tones 
That  quivered  forth  in  silver  softness,  like 
The  sifted  sunbeams  that  through  trembling  leaves 
Fall  trembling,  chanting,  spoke  the  thought  of  all,  — 
"  Peace,  peace  no  more,  no  more.     The  dreams  of 

heaven, 

The  days  and  reveries  and  toilless  tasks 
Of  heaven,  now  no  more.     O  beautiful  past, 
Forever  past !     O  youth,  O  joy,  O  joy 
Of  youth  immortal,  laughters  infinite, 
Pure  youth  and  gladness  of  the  gods,  farewell  I 
The  black  days  come,  the  days  that  darken  night, 
The  nights  that  dim  the  stars.     Sweet  peace,  sweet 

heaven, 

Celestial  days  and  dreams,  but  memories  now  ; 
And  with  your  memories  mingles  that  refrain, 
New  to  our  hearing,  4  Nevermore.'  " 

Then  all, 
With  sudden  impulse,  turned  the  shining  face, 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD.  39 

And  o'er  the  way  their  steps  had  traversed  bent, 

Bent  all  as  one,  eyes  of  untold  regret, 

Moist  eyes  of  silent,  infinite  regret, 

Remembering  all  the  things  that  were  —  that  were  ; 

And  as  in  days  of  boundless  summer  calm, 

Of  calm  through  earth  and  sky,  'mid  the  high  tops 

Of  silent  pines  the  sleeping  air  half  wakes, 

And  breathes  among  the  boughs  a  dream  of  sound, 

So  low,  so  subtle,  mystical,  that  it  gives 

A  soul  to  silence,  eloquence  to  calm, 

So  came,  as  they  stood  gazing,  o'er  their  lips, 

In  mystic,  murmurous  echoes,  "  Nevermore." 

At  once  their  eyes  grew  flame,  their  lips  were  iron  ; 
And  they,  red  shame  and  anger  on  their  cheeks,  — 
"  Are  we  but  babes  indeed?  and  do  we  quail 
In  coward  weakness,  when  the  destinies 
We  sought  for  meet  us,  honoring  our  guest?" 
And,  with  the  self-accusing  word,  they  turned ; 
Dauntless  in  aspect,  and  with  vigorous  foot, 
But  now  in  silence,  kept  their  onward  way. 

Higher  and  deeper  reached,  and  denser  grew, 
With  their  advance,  the  cloudy  portent ;  dense, 
And  dark  and  darker,  denser  yet ;  and  aye 


40  THE  BABES   OF  GOD. 

More  high  it  clomb,  and  lower  aye  it  dived, 

Till,  measureless  in  all  proportions  now, 

A  solid  darkness,  an  embodied  night, 

It  seemed,  that  overtopped  and  shadowed  heaven, 

That  under  dipped  and  lapped  the  underworld, 

And  reaching  out  its  crescent  arms  beyond 

The  stars,  more  wide  than  utmost  east  and  west, 

Menaced  infinitude  with  black  embrace. 

Nor  darkness  visible  alone  appeared, 

But  darkness  potent,  flinging  out  its  force, 

And  sowing  blindness  on  the  soil  of  sight ; 

And  they  that  looked  upon  it  long,  conceived 

The  virtue  of  their  vision  marred,  decayed, 

And  o'er  the  eyes,  with  frequent  pressure,  drew 

The  hand,  their  sluggard  spirits  as  to  rouse. 

Meantime,  a  strange  oppression  grew  upon  them, 
Still  grew  with  their  advance.     Seemed  it  the  blood 
Was  refluent  and  crowded  to  the  heart, 
Fearful  or  forceless  on  its  course  to  run. 
The  virtue  of  the  spirit  made  retreat 
No  more  availing  for  its  wonted  sway. 
So,  when  some  mighty  city  is  besieged, 
The  brave  defenders  easily  at  first 
Repel  the  assailants  from  its  utmost  bound; 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD.  41 

But,  worn  at  length  with  labors,  vigils,  wounds, 

The  wall  they  yield,  —  surrender  to  the  foe 

Broad  spaces  of  the  city,  and,  themselves 

Retiring  to  the  citadel,  confine  to  that 

Their  strenuous  defence,  attempting  less 

The  more  t'  accomplish,  —  thus  the  daunted  force 

Of  these  celestial  voyagers  fell  back 

(So  seemed  it),  as  in  presence  of  a  foe. 

And,  as  a  vehicle  that  over  roads 

Of  yielding  sand  goes  half-spoke  deep,  with  sweat 

And  straining  of  the  team,  makes  lingering  speed, 

So  all  their  powers  of  thought,  of  will,  or  sense, 

At  disadvantage  wrought,  some  obstacle 

Encountering  that  robbed  them  of  effect. 

All  forces  have  their  lawful  atmosphere, 
Wherein  they  freely  breathe,  and  are  themselves. 
The  voice  is  debtor  to  the  ear  for  hearing, 
Else  not  a  voice  ;  the  eyes,  to  sky  and  earth 
For  sweet  solicitation,  sights  akin, 
With  it  born  into  correspondence,  else 
Were  but  the  image  of  an  eye ;  and  man 
Only  'mid  love  and  trust  and  reverence  may 
Put  forth  the  perfect  vigors  of  his  soul. 
In  utter  isolation,  is  he  like 
Lungs  wanting  air,  eyes  robbed  of  light,  a  heart 


42  THE  BABES   OF  GOD. 

On  which  no  willing  arteries  wait  to  take 

Its  crimson  good  with  honoring  hands  away. 

Alas  for  him,  then,  who  from  childhood  lacks 

All  genial  recognition  of  his  spirit, 

All  valuing  of  his  value  ;  deemed,  when  truest,  most 

Perverse ;  when  wisest,  purest  in  his  faith, 

Or  fool  or  felon ;  for  his  virtue  still 

Dishonored  !     You  that  see  commixture  strange 

Of  genius  heavenly,  with  craze  or  crime 

Or  imbecility,  know  the  cause,  and  learn 

What  is  the  deepest  tragedy  of  our  earth. 

Oppressed  with  influence  inimical, 

Pillaged  of  half  their  force,  the  godlike  babes 

Hold  on  no  less,  right  on,  with  steady  eyes, 

And  lips  all  smiling-nrm.     Though  unknown  fate 

Before,  divinity  they  knew  within. 

"  Come  the  encounter,  then ;  abide  the  shock 

Who  may,"  they  said  ;  yet  by  their  inward  prayer 

Still  supplicated  knowledge.     They  had  come 

From  the  celestial  kingdoms,  guided  well 

By  some  fine  pilotage  of  the  soul  that  steered 

Straight  to  the  port  where  lay  the  spirit-freight ; 

For  whether  through  the  airy  deeps,  or  'mid 

The  rocks,  through  winding  straits  and  whirling  tides 

And  stormy  seas  of  time,  the  soul  its  way 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD.  43 

Discerns  with  master-eye,  the  helm  with  skill 
Controlling,  while  the  helm  is  to  its  hand 
Frankly  confided ;  voyaging  as  it  bade, 
They  came,  knowing  but  this,  —  that  night  and  toil, 
Trial  and  woe,  awaited  then,  to  bless  if  they 
Were  worthy ;  knowing  this,  nor  more.    "  What  shall 
The  trial  be  ?  "  they  questioned.     "What  is  this 
To  which  our  steps  each  moment  bear  us  near?" 
Among  their  number  one  there  was  ('twas  he 
Of  brooding,  thoughtful  eyes),  a  silent  soul. 
'Mid  happy,  careless  converse,  rising  like 
The  gush  of  fountains  that  fling  up  with  joy 
Their  crystal  jets  and  snowy  spray,  he  kept 
A  gentle  silence,  —  not  with  knitted  brows, 
In  striving  pain  of  thought,  or  in  reproof 
Of  their  sweet  freedom  ;  yet  he  spake  no  word, 
Nor  seemed  intent  to  hear,  nor  quick  to  see. 
And,  when  conjectures  and  half-thoughts  of  that 
Whereof  none  rightly  knew  they  ventured,  he 
Mingled  no  guess  with  theirs,  indifferent  seemed ; 

o  o 

To  spread  the  wings  of  question  seemed  unapt. 
Last  to  conjecture  or  opine,  to  know 
Still  was  he  first ;  and,  opening  his  lips, 
Poured  meditation  as  a  river  deep 
And  swift,  till  their  intelligence,  afloat 


44  TUE  BABES   OF  GOD. 

Upon  his  thought,  above  all  anchorage 

Uplifted,  like  a  fleet  of  barges  borne 

By  some  deep-rolling  tide,  were  onward  swept. 

Then  Avas  it  manifest  that  no  object,  word, 

Nor  opportunity  on  him  was  lost ; 

While  whatsoe'er  the  sense  obtained,  was  held 

In  keen  and  quiet  scrutiny  before 

An  inward  eye,  that  knew  no  lidded  sleep, 

That  knew  no  clouded  haste  nor  weak  impatience. 

Placid,  inexorable,  in  search,  he  thought, 

He    questioned,    as    he    breathed ;    and,    though    he 

bore 

One  query  in  his  heart  a  thousand  icons, 
Happily  he  bore  it  still,  without  a  dream 
Of  haste  or  pain,  nor  in  a  thousand  seons 
Ceased  for  a  moment  his  cherubic  quest. 
Sudden  he  spoke,  and  poured  his  copious  thought ; 
While,  circling  round,  his  brother  souls  gave  ear,  — 

"  These  are  the  Elements  that  greet  our  sight, 
Not  overwelcome.     Oft  of  these  in  heaven 
The  sages  made  some  mention.     Standing  near, 
I  marvelled  what  they  meant,  and  marvelled  why 
Their  words,  not  understood,  touched  my  deep  heart 
So  surely,  as  they  claimed  acquaintance  there 
Older  than  mine  acquaintance  with  myself. 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD.  45 

These  are  those  Elements.     The  sight  explains 

Remembrance  ;  for  the  words  that  long  have  been 

The  idle  guests  of  memory  leap  to  wed 

Heart-feeling,  of  the  eye  engendered  now. 

These  are  the  Elements,  than  themselves  as  yet 

More  elemental,  undeveloped,  dead, 

Till  our  arrival  give  their  nature  force. 

For  life,  all  life,  all  energy,  obtains 

But  by  the  soul.     But  when  our  life  shall  touch 

This  darkness,  cold  and  hot,  and  moist  and  dry, 

Heavy  and  flighty,  hard,  opaque,  inert, 

Matter  with  all  its  properties,  and  world, 

The  everlasting  opposite  of  soul,  shall  then 

Begin  existence,  rushing  into  form, 

Assuming  force,  made  complete  Element. 

The  touch  of  life  celestial  'tis  that  makes 

Desire  in  its  dark  bosom,  and  endows 

Matter  with  matter's  force,  world  with  the  power 

That  makes  it  World,  and  gives  it  to  itself. 

By  elder,  wiser  spirits  I  would  brood, 

And  wonder  what  they  meant,  and  ask  my  heart 

Wherefore  it  thrilled  when  these,  not  understood, 

Were  syllabled,  —  to  clear  perception  now 

I  find  this  growing  in  my  soul.  —  These  are 


46 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD. 


The  Elements  —  that  which  is  opposite, 

Forever  opposite  to  moving  spirits, 

Those  elements,  with  which  the  Life  we  bear, 

The  pure  immortal  Life,  must  measure  soon 

Its  vigor,  and  be  proved.     Here  hot  and  cold, 

And  moist  and  dry,  heavy  and  flighty,  dark, 

Opaque,  inert,  and  whatsoever  may 

Enforce  a  limitation  on  the  soul, 

Await  us,  —dead  till  our  arrival  wake 

Desire  in  its  dark  bosom :  for  as  yet, 

To  definite  nature  undeveloped,  heat 

And  cold,  and  weight  and  levity,  are  not ; 

But  here  the  possibility  of  all, 

The  Dim,  the  sheer  Obscure,  abides  the  touch 

Of  spirit,  Life  celestial,  —  then  will  burst 

Into  its  proper  power,  then  strive  to  make 

The  soul  its  mere  subordinate,  its  slave 

And  instrument,  yea,  with  itself  will  seek 

To  fill  infinitude,  eternity,  — 

To  give  itself  supremacy,  and  impose 

Its  law  and  sway  imperious  on  all  spirit, 

Upon  all  Godhood,  and  itself  be  God. 

For  this  is  that  which  shall  be  matter,  shall 

Be  World,  when  once  enkindled  by  the  soul, 

To  soul  forever  opposite  ;  by  soul 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD.  47 

Quickened  unto  that  power  of  opposition, 
We  enter  here,  and  all  the  deepest  fates 
Of  all  the  universe  upon  us  lie,  — 
The  fate  of  God  himself  upon  us  lies. 
For  could  the  wave  flow  backward,  could 
Pure  World  prevail  o'er  spirit  once,  no  pause 
Should  ever  come  to  its  encroachment :  on 
And  on  'twould  flow  in  horrible  victory, 
The  barriers  being  broken,  and  at  last 
Godhood  itself  must  feed  the  maw  of  world. 

We  enter  here  to  test  in  our  own  souls 
The  destinies  that  keep  the  universe 
Alive  and  sweet,  that  work  deliverance 
Perpetual  for  the  all.     The  hope,  the  fear, 
The  scope  and  purpose  of  the  Whole,  will  now, 
Committed  to  our  bosoms,  come  in  us 
Anew  to  old  solution.     This  I  see. 
God's  burden  lies  upon  us,  brothers ;  let 
It  fall  on  shoulders  worthy  of  the  charge : 
And  let  the  greatness  of  our  destiny 
Assure  us ;  for  the  universe  will  ne'er 
Go  backward,  never  fail  of  victory  ; 
And  we,  the  present  symbols  of  its  force, 
Ride  onward  in  its  conquering  car,  and  reach, 
With  its  arrival  sure,  the  wondrous  goal. 


48  THE  BABES   OF  GOD. 

Still  pressing  onward  while  lie  thus  explained, 
Now  to  the  far-reflected  shadow  dim, 
The  obscure  prophecy  of  that  mortal  dark, 
They,  pioneers  immortal,  had  arrived  ; 
Here  felt  the  touch  of  twilight ;  and  each  one, 
Looking  upon  his  bright  companions,  saw, 
With  troubled  eye,  the  aureole  on  his  brows 
Diminished  of  its  tenderest,  softest  beams, 
Robbed  by  a  hostile  influence,  now  just  known. 

Here  now  they  paused,  high-hearted,  not  in  fear, 
Though  stricken  with  a  mighty  awe,  yet  rich 
In  great  resolve,  or  what  is  greater  than 
Resolve  most  high-heroic,  the  grand  push 
Of  Providence,  or  Necessity  divine 
From  out  the  heart  whose  prophecy  and  law, 
Whose  miracle  and  pledge  of  issues  large 
And  sure  it  is  forever.     He  is  great 
In  whom  the  All  hath  fashioned  for  itself 
A  centre  new,  and  by  the  usages 
And  virtue  of  his  heart  must  vindicate 
Supremacy.     The  force  of  destiny, 
The  sureness  of  a  God,  sureness  of  which 
All  courage  is  the  image,  dwell  in  him. 
And  in  their  bosoms  this  was  mounting  now  — 
Was  growing,  gathering,  in  their  godlike  souls, 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD.  49 

Was  gleaming  on  their  foreheads,  in  their  eyes, 

And  they  were  victors  ere  their  strife  began- 

Born  each  of  God,  a  total  effluence 

Of  his  divinest  bosom,  how  should  not 

The  mastery  and  virtue  of  his  heart 

Go  with  its  product  ?     It  shall  touch  the  deeps 

Only  to  reach  the  heights !  shall  strike  its  root 

As  low  as  to  the  nethermost  abyss, 

That  it  may  branch  and  blossom,  and  may  bear 

Golden  immortal  wealth  of  fruitage,  far 

Above  all  height  of  stars,  or  stretch  of  sky, 

Beneath  the  noon  of  pure  eternity ! 

They,  growing  conscious  of  their  destiny, 

Here  in  the  presence  of  its  mighty  test, 

Saw  in  that  awful  darkness  evidence 

Of  light  ineffable  to  come  ;  discerned 

What  altitude  the  summit  should  attain 

By  this  descending  of  the  inverse  base, 

And  by  their  awe  were  gladdened,  by  their  fear 

To  courage  were  restored.     And  so  they  stood 

And  gazed  undaunted  on  the  sable  cloud, 

That  high  as  heaven,  deep  as  deepest  hell, 

And  wide  as  east  and  west,  engrossed  all  space 

Before  them,  filling  half  infinitude. 

Then  with  the  sense  of  their  great  destiny, 


50  THE  BABES    OF  GOD. 

Of  what  they  were,  of  all  that  in  them,  all 

That  by  them,  should  be  wrought,  they,  until  now 

The  beauteous  babes  of  God,  by  sudden  growth 

Rose  in  their  stature,  towering,  babes  no  more, 

Hose  in  celestial  majesty  of  strength, 

Fit  to  be  champions  of  the  universe, 

Vast  as  victorious  Morning,  when  he  strides, 

With  blazing  forehead,  o'er  the  eastern  hills, 

And,  terrible  in  goodness,  drives  fell  Night, 

In  scudding,  scattered  flight  before  his  face. 

So  did  they  stand,  and  looking  each  on  each, 

Felt  no  amazement,  for  each  bosom  told 

Itself  the  secret  of  that  grandeur  new. 

But  now  they  wondered  they  had  e'er  been  less, 

They,  with  such  World-fates,  God-fates,  holding  place 

And  seeking  issue  in  their  harboring  hearts. 

The  deep-eyed  youngest  thereof  spoke  in  tones 
Of  sweetest  penetration  :  he  was  one 
Who  saw  with  happy  ease  the  essences 
Of  all  things  near  at  hand,  but  never  ran 
Before  his  life  in  speculative  quest, 
Nor  e'er  pursued  with  far-off  flight  and  nice 
Inspection  truth  remote  and  manifold, 
In  manifoldiiess  wedded  wondrously 
And  through  it  wrought  to  richer  unity. 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD.  51 

He  lived  and  rested  sweetly  in  his  life, 
Content,  and  sure  of  heart,  and  sure  of  eye. 
And  effortless  as  seeing  was  his  speech, 
Nor  dreamed  he  to  convince,  persuade,  effect, 
But  saw  and  said :    his  words  were    as   his   heart 
beats, 

Part  of  the  health  and  order  of  his  life ; 
And  when  he  spoke,  there  seemed  no  joy, 
Calling,  nor  use  in  life,  but  listening. 
He  what  he  saw  declared :  "  Immortal  brothers, 
Size  is  but  symbol,  not  reality, 
And  magnitude  foretells  and  not  fulfills ; 
For  all  this  ring  of  vastness  rounding  in 
Our  life  is  but  perspective  of  that  life, 
Sign  and  suggestion  hovering  round  the  soul. 
We  in  the  growth  and  rareness  of  our  praise 
Receive  by  strength  and  stature  vast  and  high 
Hint  of  the  greatness  we  shall  yet  attain,  — 
Greatness  that  shall  belittle  size  and  space, 
And  efficacy  of  pure  power,  that  leaves 
All  name  and  thought  of  striving  strength  behind. 
This  majesty  of  stature  is  first  step 
Of  our  descent  into  the  realm  of  World,  — 
Of  our  descent  beginning :  of  our  rise 
And  glorious  end  the  eloquent  prophecy. 


52  THE  BABES   OF  GOD. 

They  heard  and  knew  it  truth,  and  yet  had  joy 
In  that  most  lofty  presence,  joy  to  see 
That  they  were  gods  indeed,  and  meet  to  hear 
The  fates  of  vast  futurities,  and  meet 
To  be  the  standard-bearers  of  the  All. 
Joy  was  it  to  them  now  to  read  in  this 
Large-lettered  proclamation,  faiths 
Which  they  had  cherished  in  their  secret  souls. 
Joy  had  they,  and  tVas  well ;  and  all  their  soul 
By  right  appointment  poured  its  secret, 
Shed  all  its  grace  and  worthiness,  into  form, 
In  shape  and  shining  flung  its  challenge 
Before  the  lasting  elements  opaque  ; 
And  so  they  stood,  each  form  a  monument, 
Each  eye  a  sun,  each  presence  day  and  heaven. 

Now  in  the  bosom  of  the  deep,  before 
Lying  in  stillness  of  a  death  that  ne'er 
Was  life,  —  of  death  born  unto  death  from  out 
A  womb  of  death, — showed  tokens  of  unrest, 
A  stir,  a  shiver,  vague  and  vast,  that  grew, 
And  heightened  into  wildness  ;  to  and  fro 
Went  billows  beating  o'er  each  other,  dashed 
In  spray  of  darkness  up  and  down  afar ; 
Mad  thrills  ran  riot  through  the  black, 
Like  crazy  spasms  of  sick  nerves  in  men; 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD.  53 

At  length,  concentring  its  commotion,  swelled 

Its  sombre  bosom  madly  toward  the  troop 

Immortal,  yearning  unto  them  in  pain,  — 

In  pain  of  uncontained,  untold  desire,  — 

In  pain  of  mutual  contention  fierce,  — 

Each  hungry  atom  striving  to  be  first. 

So  like  the  puffed  cheek  of  a  trumpeter, 

Or  Nubian  lip  voluptuous,  did  the  abyss 

Shape  forth  its  longing  toward  these  shining  souls. 

Meanwhile  a  smothered  moan,  wild,  weird,  and  dim, 
Vast,  dubious,  and  awful,  rose,  —  a  moan 
Of  dim  and  dumb  desire,  —  desire  that  hath 
No  eye,  no  tongue,  no  sense,  nor  knowledge,  knows 
Not  e'en  itself,  yet  is,  and  measureless, 
Tameless,  and  terrible  to  apprehend. 
As  when  near  ^Etna  the  Sicilian  hears 
A  humming  horror  underground,  so  low 
A  whisper  drowns  it,  yet  no  thunder-burst 
Of  loud  artillery  near  at  hand  should  be 
Worthy  to  name  beside  it,  for  it  goes  forth  — 
As  to  him  seems  —  through  earth  and  heaven,  jars 
The  sun  in  heaven,  makes  the  planet  quail 
Beneath  his  feet :  so  came  that  moan  of  pain, 
Of  lust  and  longing,  from  th'  abyss ;  so  low, 
So  dim,  so  hushed,  no  coward  whisper  were ; 


54  THE  BABES   OF  GOD. 

Yet  more  the  ear  it  filled  than  all  the  din, 
The  wars  and  thunders  of  a  thousand  years 
Could  make,  concentred  to  a  single  roar. 

Th'  immortals  heard  the  omen,  heard  and  felt 
Its  horror  in  their  marrow,  to  their  core,  — 
They  saw  and  heard ;  but,  raised  in  spirit  high, 
Smiled  back  a  godlike  challenge  to  their  fates, 
Serene  in  sureness,  holding  fast  their  hope. 

Then  one  among  them  cried,  "  O  royal  souls  ! 
So  soon  to  put  the  purple  off,  —  so  soon 
In  naked  contest  with  the  nether  fates 
To  test  your  quality,  —  behold  the  sign, 
And  read  its  meaning  well !  the  elements 
Confess  the  worth  that  in  our  life  resides, 
And  pay  it  homage,  robber  homage  pay, 
Inverse,  but  loud  and  most  significant. 
See,  see,  the  soul  wins  all  things  to  itself! 
E'en  that  which  would  enslave  it,  is  the  slave 
Of  wish  to  have  and  hold  it  in  possession, 
And  renders  to  it  thus  infernal  worship. 
The  soul  wins  all  things  to  itself,  —  the  soul 
Is  lord ;  it  cannot  fail ;  and  we  are  soul." 
Then  all  the  radiant  brothers  lifted  up 
The  voice,  and  chanted  loud  and  sweet,  with  cheer 
Of  heavenly  trust,  a  welcome  to  their  fates. 


THE  BABES   OF  GOD.  55 

Though  weak  the  private  will,  existence 

To  obey  its  law  is  strong  ; 
And  we  shall  faint  and  we  shall  falter, 

We  shall  mourn  the  journey  long ; 
But  Life  within  us,  Love  within  us, 

Love  and  Life  and  Truth  divine, 
Serenely  march  through  deep  and  darkness, 

March,  and  reach  their  high  design. 

Necessity  must  conquer,  conquer, 

Let  what  will  against  it  work  : 
In  vain  all  powers  conspire  to  thwart  it, 

Vainly  foes  to  wound  it  lurk. 
Necessity  our  hearts  inhabits  : 

There  the  universe's  need 
Is  rounded,  ripened,  sown  of  heaven,  — 

Of  new  heavens  and  stars  the  seed. 

Then  welcome  discord  to  our  bosoms, 

Welcome  darkness  to  our  light, 
Thrice  welcome,  Weight  unto  the  pinions 

We  have  used  for  heavenly  flight : 
The  Best  of  Worst  works  out  a  Better, 

Light  of  Darkness  makes  a  sun, 
And  Life  by  Death  is  made  immortal, 

Victory  in  defeat  begun. 


56  THE  CONFESSION. 


THE   CONFESSION. 


BENEATH  the  pines,  bird-haunted,  by  the  shore, 
While  morning  clomb  the  height  of  heaven,  we  sat, 
My  friend  and  I,  —  the  friend  I  honored  most 
Of  all  men.     He  the  elder,  for  his  beard 
Was  silvered,  mine  yet  young  upon  my  chin  ; 
But  in  our  love  was  no  disparity. 
Now  he  went  over  sea,  that  afternoon 
Would  sail,  not  to  return,  nor  could  I  hope 
To  follow  ;  and  because  I  loved  him  greatly, 
And  he  to  me  great  love  had  given,  we  met 
To  pass  apart  and  consecrate  these  hours, 
Our  last  together,  and  to  bid  adieu 
Unwitnessed.     Neighboring  to  the  harbor's  mouth, 
Fronting  the  sea,  there  was  a  grove  of  pines, 
That  from  a  height  went  down  with  steep  descent, 
And  overhung  the  rocks  that  lined  the  shore  ; 
This  was  our  favorite  spot  ;  and  many  a  time, 
In  summer  days,  we  sat  upon  the  brow, 


THE   CONFESSION.  57 

To  see  through  lessening  stems  and  green  arcades, 
A  hundred  yards  below,  the  long  surge  roll 
And  whiten  on  the  strand.     Hither  this  day 
We  came  at  mid  of  morn,  so  'twas  agreed, 
And,  seated  as  our  wont  was,  heard  the  boom 
Of  billows,  soon  to  heave  our  hearts  between  ; 
Here  quaffed  the  wine  of  our  commune  in  slow, 
Deep  draughts  through  hurrying  hours.     But  when 

at  length 

The  sun  made  lustrous  noon  o'er  land  and  sea, 
Speech  ended,  silence  brooded  on  our  lips 
A  tender  space  ;  then  we,  yet  silent,  rose, 
And  joined  our  hands,  and  only  with  our  eyes 
Spake  sad,  sweet  benedictions  and  farewells. 

Meeting  and  parting  there  for  us  had  end. 
He  sailed,  nor  landed  but  on  shores  unseen. 
Not  now  the  loud  Atlantic,  not  the  waste 
Of  clamoring  waters,  but  the  mystic  sea 
Divides  which  girts  this  island  men  call  Time. 

But  some  brief  record  of  old  sorrows  past, 
And  joy  succeeding,  he,  fulfilling  so 
A  promise,  gave  into  my  hand  that  day. 
"  Take  it,"  he  said  :  "  'tis  little  worth,  and  yet 
I  do  not  play  the  Ananias  here. 
Your  hand  upon  these  pages,  on  my  breast, 


58  THE  CONFESSION. 

The  life-beat  under,  lies.     No  second  touch 

So  near  with  felt  approaches  !     But  when  I 

Upon  that  voyage  of  discovery 

Have  gone  that  is  to  all  appointed,  then 

Keep  or  impart  it  as  you  will.     The  grave 

Needs  not  another  than  its  own  reserve  : 

The  miser's  self  is  liberal  there,  and  makes 

His  all  his  bounty."     He  hath  reached  his  haven ; 

Nor  storm  shall  vex,  nor  calm  delay  him  more  : 

His  sail  is  furled.     These  memories  are  mine, 

And  what  he  gave  to  me,  I  give  again. 

8Ef)e  (Confession. 

An  eve  in  maiden  summer  'twas,  —  young  eve, 
Half  parted  from  Day's  bosom,  all  a-blush 
With  newness  and  the  kisses  of  the  sun, 
That  o'er  the  horizon  lingered  his  farewell,  — 
As  I  along  a  lonely  way,  that  kept 
The  river's  eastern  bank,  went  still  and  slow. 
Nature  was  in  the  height  of  her  line  mood, 
And  poured  enchantment ;  ripples  to  the  marge 
Gave  hint,  it  seemed,  of  some  great  happiness  ; 
The  birds  made  royal  revel,  singing  Day 
To  dewy  couch,  and  Night  to  jewelled  throne  ; 


THE  CONFESSION.  59 

The  air  was  liquid  heaven,  that  a  god 

Had  blessed,  inhaling,  and  the  zephyr  might 

Have  been  the  fanning  of  an  angel's  wing, 

To  cool  the  sleep  of  some  Elysiaii  babe  ; 

Below  the  river's  western  bank  the  sky 

Arched  under  sweetly,  and  against  it  trees, 

Maple  and  upland  oak  and  feathery  elm, 

Stood  out  inverse,  and  swayed  with  such  a  grace 

Of  subtlest  undulation,  that  the  eye 

Believed  them  breathing ;  while  around  were  green 

And  bloom  and  blowing  beauty  of  the  time  : 

Oh,  'twas  the  brimming  hour  of  all  the  year ! 

But  not  to  me.     Unsummered,  sunless,  void, 
T  walked  as  one  that,  going,  knows  it  not ; 
And  with  the  season's  joyance  still  commixed 
The  alien,  fierce  refrain  of  my  despair. 

For  I  had  come  from  conflict  with  the  host 
Of  hot  self-seekers,  hot  and  blind,  who  throng 
The  thoroughfares  of  cities  ;  I  had  known 
Their  colder  kindred  in  green  solitudes, 
Who  blot  the  bloom  of  spring,  —  in  bitterness 
I  said^  —  or  shame  the  cheek  of  matron  summer, 
With  villain  company  ;  and,  seeing  all, 


60  THE  CONFESSION. 

Now  was  I  pillaged  of  that  treasure  clear, 
That  precious  reverence  for  the  race  of  man, 
Which  he  is  rich  that  hath,  —  that  wanteth,  poor. 

Against  the  rising  scorn  long  had  I  striven 
With  warm  contention.     As  on  Holland's  shore 
The  dwellers,  when  their  billoAvy  foe,  beyond 
Accustomed  limit  bearing  his  assault, 
Frowns    murderous    menace    o'er    their    fields    and 

herds 

And  happy  homes,  will  toil  with  swelling  veins, 
By  night  and  day,  above  his  rage  to  rear 
Their  providence,  —  so  I,  to  make  secure 
My  sacred  reverence  for  man,  essayed 
With  labor  ;  swore  I  would  not  yield  it  up ; 
Exhorted  urgently  my  soul,  and  said, 
"  Be  resolute,  O  soul !  nor  let  the  sight 
And  sufferance  of  human  baseness  cause 
To  perish  thy  good  thoughts  of  human-kind. 
Oh !  if  the  race  of  man  be  naught,  why  shines 
The  sun  with  that  divine  expenditure 
Of  golden  day  ?     Why  do  the  eternal  stars 
Smile  from   their  silent   thrones  through   night  and 

space  ? 

Why  yon  benignity  of  azure  bend 
Sweet  shelter  o'er  man's  life  ?     False  are  they,  false  ? 


THE   CONFESSION.  61 

Yea,  do  the  heavens  lie  ?  and  are  the  stars 
Tongues  of  an  infinite  hypocrisy?" 

Not  so  persuaded  ;  for  still  came  the  voice, 
Uttered  in  speaking  act,  from  many  a  land, 
4*  Self  is  our  god ;  soul  is  our  barter,  —  prized, 
But  prized  for  vending :  who  will  bid  may  buy  !  " 

Ah,  piteous  Heaven  !  words  that  smote  the  ear 
With  such  offence,  offence  o'erwent  its  mark  ; 
And  I,  the  thinking  I,  stood  vaguely  stirred, 
Like  one  that  on  a  white-hot  iron  lays 
The  hand,  unwitting,  nor  at  first  perceives 
The  harm  he  suffers,  hurt  beyond  the  sense 
Of  hurt,  but  soon,  too  soon,  the  herald,  Pain, 
Trumpets  the  news  with  iteration  sore  : 
So  I,  benumbed  with  scath  a  season,  took 
At  last  the  sense,  and  what  I  suffered  knew. 

Oh !  then  mine  ears  I  deafened,  shut  the  eyes, 
Made  blind  resolve  another  lid,  and  hung 
My  very  prayers  as  curtains  'twixt  the  fact 
And  me.     In  vain  :  glared  on  the  eyeball  still 
The  sight  of  base  self-love,  with  self-contempt 
One  and  the  same ;  and  still  into  the  brain 
The  voice  of  that  soul-profanation  crept, 


62  THE   CONFESSION. 

And  stung  there  like  an  adder.     Weak,  at  last, 
"  Doth  not  each  nature  estimate  itself?  " 
I  said.     "Doth  not  the  worm,  by  crawling,  say, 
'  A  worm  am  I ; '  the  bird,  by  flight,  proclaim 
The  thing  it  is  ?     Though  I  should  call  the  worm 
An  eagle,  'twould  not  soar,  and  eye  the  sun. 
Ye  that  your  own  soul's  honor  make  a  virgin 
Sold  from  Cir cassia  to  the  Turk,  —  e'en  though 
Pleasured  with  wealth  and  state  and  capping  trains ; 
By  all  the  supplest  joints  and  meekest  knees 
Of  homage  though  attended, — be  your  act 
Your  title,  graced  no  more  in  name  than  deed. 
c  Odi  profanum  vulgus  : '  well  'twas  said, 
Horatius,  and  I  thank  the  hearty  words." 

Fooled  with  despair,  thus  loitered  I,  that  eve, 
Along  the  lone  way  by  the  river-side, 
And  wondered  whether  all  the  worlds  are  rich 
In  such  a  plentitude  of  pauper  souls ; 
And,  guessing  all  no  better  tenanted, 
I  jeered  at  Nature,  asked  the  dame  if  she 
Were  proud  of  these  her  houses  in  the  heavens, 
Lived  in  by  life's  disgraces,  such  as  blot 
A  space  else  innocent,  —  waste  worlds,  all  waste, 
Infested,  not  inhabited,  I  said : 


TI1E  CONFESSION.  63 

While  all  the  golden  cohorts  of  the  sun 
Charged  from  the  west  on  my  despair,  and  rained 
Their  bright  blades  vainly  on  its  mail  of  steel. 

But  here  that  wretched  reverie  was  cut  short. 
A  silver  float  of  voices  for  a  time 
Had    wandered    'bout    my    ear,    and    brushed    the 

sense 

With  tender  wing,  unheeded,  till  at  length, 
In  sudden  symphony  with  sweet  assault, 
It  came  victorious,  breaking  through  my  gloom. 
Then,  looking  up,  a  troop  of  maids  I  saw 
Approaching,  snowy-necked,  bound  in  a  knot 
With  circling  whiteness  of  their  arms  of  love. 
Swan-like  and  slow  along  the  way  they  swam, 
While  all  above  them  light-winged  laughters  sweet 
Made  gladsome  flicker,  like  the  fire-fly  maze 
Above  a  mead  in  the  calm  summer  night. 

Whence  was  the  power  of  that  pure  merriment? 
For  in  a  moment,  when  it  touched  my  heart, 
My  heart  was  changed  ;  the  bitterness  forsook 
Its  brimming  cup :  I  stood  in  middle  state, 
As  one  to  whom  all  avenues  are  open, 
And  bane  or  blessing,  joy  or  pain,  may  chance. 


64  THE   CONFESSION. 

Nearer  each  other,  soon  we  met  and  passed ; 
And  one,  in  passing,  turned  to  mine  her  eyes : 
One    fleeting   glance  ...  a   moment  .  .  .  and   for 
ever  ! 

"  Ah,  sky-deep  eyes  of  the  Immortals  !  "  sang 
Another  soul,  as  'twere,  within  my  breast,  — 
Homeric  heart  of  man,  that,  ever  young, 
Beholds  the  gods,  and  knows  them,  when  they  turn, 
Though  clothed  upon  with  mortal  seeming,  turn, 
And  look  their  own  divineness,  and  are  gone. 

Oh !  there  are  eyes  of  woman  that  in  truth, 
In  manly  truth,  not  glozing,  one  could  name 
The  mystic  windows  of  eternity, 
Ineffable  in  depth,  divine  in  calm, 
Supreme ;  and  such  were  these.     And  there  are  eyes 
That  have  in  them  the  space  of  heaven,  —  space 
For  stars  to  circle,  thought  to  wander  in, 
Yea,  room  for  roaming  Fancy,  when  his  wing 
Waves  once,  and  leaves  behind  sun,  stars,  and  all 
The  visible  universe  ;  and  such  were  these. 
And  as  a  sea,  on  which  a  lone  ship  sails, 
And  is  in  burden  and  in  measure  naught 
To  the  great  royal  bosom,  that  breathes  on 
Beneath  her  weight  unconscious,  while  afar 


THE  CONFESSION.  65 

His  blue  breadth  sweeping  meets  the  bending  sky,  — 

Such  ocean  were  these  eyes ;  and  on  them  TIME, 

A  solitary  ship,  sailed.     Welcome,  yet 

A  dot,  no  more !     Seas  by  no  mortal  bound 

Included,  pure  abysms  of  Soul,  they  were  : 

To  them  no  rounding  shore,  nor  continent 

Beneath,  save  the  Eternal.     Ah  !  from  what 

Remove  unspeakable  their  vision  came  ; 

To  what  Beyond  did  journey  !     Yet  did  they, 

Of  their  sweet  charity,  not  overlook  the  world, 

But  condescended  to  it  with  a  grace 

Half  carelessness  and  half  beneficence : 

As  when  a  great  king  meets  a  pilgrim  poor, 

Tosses  a  greeting  and  a  purse  of  gold, 

And  says  to  some  attendant,  u  Take  him  home ; 

Let  him  have  water,  raiment,  meat,  and  wine, 

And  cheer  his  heart ; "  and,  even  in  speaking  thus, 

Lends  to  the  words  the  less  part  of  his  thought, 

And  3'ields  the  more  to  interests  of  his  realm. 

And  when  I  met  such  eyes,  and,  marvelling,  saw 
Their  dimless  all-acceptance ;  when  I  felt 
The  Eternal  Essence,  by  their  freighted  beam, 
Pour  on  my  soul  the  infinite  rebuke 
Of  its  pure  sanity  and  moveless  peace,  — 


66  THE  CONFESSION. 

Blush-hot  my  forehead  grew,  and  eager  shame 

Hunted  the  imps  of  anger  from  my  breast. 

Downcast  a  while  and  dumb  I  stood  in  muse, 

Thrilled  by  the  hand  of  dear  convincement  new: 

Then  said  I,  "  He  whom  Nature  hath  contained 

In  one  humanity  with  such  a  heart 

As  from  its  treasure  may  those  orbs  endow,  — 

That  man,  though  base,  is  worthy  of  good  thoughts ; 

And  I  henceforth,  in  faith  of  their  avouch, 

New  and  undaunted  hopes,  and  ever  new, 

On  them  will  pledge  whose  deeds,  like  barbed  shafts, 

'Gainst  Hope  itself  are  shot  with  daily  wounds. 

O  sun  and  stars  !     O  peace  of  bending  heavens  ! 

And  thou,  that  other  heaven,  believing  heart 

Of  man  or  woman,  see,  I  come,  I  climb, 

Your  faith  to  share,  so  wisest,  though  deceived ! " 

Then  in  my  heart  that  great  rebuke  grew  sweet, 
And,  sweet-abiding,  sowed  about  my  breast 
Seeds  of  high  solace,  springing  day  by  day, 
Till  the  wide  harvest  waved  its  wealth  of  peace. 
And  of  my  fault  I  made  a  sepulchre, 
Hollowed  with  self-confession,  and  therein 
Gave  to  oblivion  the  fault  of  all. 
And  as  with  dewy  nights  and  sunny  days 


THE  CONFESSION.  67 

The  grass  grows  over  graves,  and  roses  bloom, 
Thus  o'er  the  scars  of  anger  and  self-blame 
Sprang  charitable  thoughts  to  sward  my  soul 
With  grace,  and  memory  itself  was  healed. 


Twice  had  the  changing  seasons  run  their  round, 
Bringing  to  mortals  happiness  and  tears : 
The  third  year  came,  and  with  it  heaven  itself 
Took  wing  to  fold  its  pinions  on  my  heart! 
Then  in  the  self-same  eyes  I  gazed  again, 
To  read  there  love,  immeasurable  love, 
In  sanctity  of  virgin  scripture  writ ; 
And  words  were  murmured,  words  that  passed  her  lips 
To  pass  again  no  others,  but  one  breast 
Still  echoes  with  them,  as  with  rolling  hymns 
And  hallelujahs  some  high-vaulted  roof, 
Beneath  which  joy  in  praise  its  wealth  outpours. 
Then,  as  high-rising  tides  might  lift  a  barque, 
That  long  had  waited,  and  the  mariners, 
Now  homeward  bound,  with  many  a  loud  huzza, 
Run  to  the  ropes  together,  all  as  one 
Lay  hold,  spread  topsail  and  topgallant,  set 
The  royals,  fix  the  booms,  while  every  soul 
Bubbles  with  pleasure  as  before  the  prow 


68  THE  CONFESSION. 

The  gamesome  foam  goes  dancing,  and  the  wake 
Grows  white  behind :  so  love  and  love's  delight 

O 

Swelled  to  uplift  me  on  their  wide  expanse, 
While  all  the  winds  of  promise  blew  me  home. 
And  when  the  ocean  of  that  summer's  joy 
Beat  on  the  shores  of  autumn,  then,  then  came 
My  heart  to  port,  with  all  its  argosies 
Of  hopes  that  furled  their  sails  in  blessedness. 
Nor  yet  I  called  her  mine.     How  could  I  dare  ? 
Mine  as  the  sky  the  eagle's,  when  he  floats 
Amid  its  deeps !     Mine  as  the  sun  of  June 
Is  propertied  by  the  cup  he  paints  with  gold, 
Or  morning  by  the  birds,  whose  folded  sleep 
Her  soft  ray  touches  till  it  flower  in  song ! 


The  bird  yet  sings  among  his  boughs  ;  but,  ah  ! 
The  beauteous  morning  glads  another  sky. 
My  sun  went  clown  with  sudden,  swift  decline, 
How  glorious  in  setting  !     Now  for  me 
Death  only,  kind  with  fated  offices, 
Shall  lift  again  the  curtains  of  the  dawn. 

Oh !  wondrous  is  the  West,  with  memories 
Illumed  and  hopes  that  tint  its  clouds,  and  turn 


THE   CONFESSION.  69 

Their  gloom  to  glory  !     There  Eternity 

Quaffs  with  a  kiss  the  breath  of  Time,  and  Earth, 

Ecstatic,  dies  upon  the  lips  of  Heaven. 

Still  sings  my  heart,  but  ever  toward  the  West : 

Only  beyond  that  lies  the  Orient ! 

Yet  from  that  bright  Beyond,  a  voice,  that  I 
With  joy  have  heard  more  nearly,  breathes  in  sweet, 
Majestic  admonition,  which  I  hive 
With  sacred  care  in  summer  hours,  too  few ; 
Thereon  to  feed  and  live  when  cruel  winds 
Come  whirling  cold,  and  warn  the  flowers  to  sleep. 
Nay,  not  in  words  nor  thoughts  full-syllabled 
Within  the  mind  I  gather ;  not  as  bees 
Pluck  from  the  hearts  of  flowers  their  richest  store ; 
Oh  !  rather  as  the  rose  in  shining  days 
Drinks  honey  from  the  sunbeams,  won  with  prayers 
That  Nature  from  her  infinite  heart  inbreathes 
And  answers.     Like  as  when  a  sleeper  wakes 
At  midnight,  echoing  with  a  dream  of  music, 
And  cannot  tell  if  'tis  a  far-off  strain, 
Borne  subtly  to  the  sense,  or  if,  perchance. 
The  footprints  of  his  sounding  dreams  abide 
Upon  the  shores  of  waking  thought,  so  deep 
Impressed  they  long  endure  the  washing  waves : 


70  THE   CONFESSION. 

Then,  to  resolve  his  doubt,  he  rises,  lifts 

A  window,  listens  in  the  open  air, 

And  hears,  —  ah,  yes  !  it  is  a  far-off  strain 

Borne  subtly  to  the  sense  ;  and  when  direct 

The  light  air  brings  it,  he  distinguishes 

Some  fragments  of  a  noble  tune,  a  tune 

Whose  harmonies  in  great  Beethoven's  soul 

Rose  into  being,  a  vocal  universe, 

With  sounds  for  stars,  that  roll  in  orbit  due 

And  fixed  allegiance,  silver  multitudes, 

Processions,  constellations,  galaxies  : 

So  comes  suggestion  to  my  secret  soul, 

But  as  the  music  of  a  saintly  life, 

Blown  from  beyond  the  stars  in  broken  strains. 

Yet,  as  the  thought  of  minds  majestic,  phrased 
In  barbarous  dialects,  may  half  appear 
Grotesquely  hinted,  so  in  words  I  shape, 
And,  shaping,  still  disguise  the  sense  of  that 
Diviner  language  so  expressed,  and  hid : 
"  Strange  to  themselves,  by  wizard  charm  beguiled, 
Wander  the  witless  many,  unaware 
Their  little  aims,  false  wishes,  and  low  thoughts 
Slander  an  angel  that  within  them  lives. 
Them  meet  thou,  knowing  of  their  true  estate, 


THE  CONFESSION.  71 

And  with  the  sworcled  charity  of  truth, 
Smite  on  the  bonds  of  their  enchantment  strong, 
Sheer  off  the  plied  delusion,  till  they  stand 
In  divine  nakedness,  discovered  souls, 
Amazed  with  recognition  of  themselves. 
Flame  on  them  with  the  Fact !     Let  reverence 
Be  marble  in  thy  feature,  in  thy  look 
Be  lightning,  to  outface  and  all  consume 
The  self-contempt  that  poisons  good  desire ; 
Still  bearing  in  thy  breast  secure  this  faith, 
The  basest  man  is  better  than  his  act ; 
So  making  it  thy  task  to  rescue  him, 
In  heart  and  hope,  from  the  calumnious 
And  damning  argument  of  his  own  deed." 

Printed  1870. 


72  TO  A    THEOLOGICAL   OPPONENT. 


TO  A    THEOLOGICAL    OPPONENT. 

SPEAK  truth  of  me,  and  if  the  truth  condemn, 

More  is  my  need  to  know  it,  and  the  more 

Winneth  he  golden  thanks,  whose  virtue  bore 
Brave  witness:  garlands  will  I  weave  for  them 
That  hate  me  wisely ;  yea,  their  garment's  hem 

Will  kiss,  that  are  the  e}^e  of  God  to  me, 

With  purest  vision  all  my  ill  to  see, 
And  show,  as  heaven's  mirror,  what  I  am. 

But,  "  Hypocrite,"  if  thou  cry,  thy  word  is  naught ; 
Nor  hurt  nor  help  I  take  from  lying  blame  ; 

Of  thine  own  sin  thy  censure  is  begot,  - 
Knaves   damn  themselves  beneath   their  neighbor's 
name. 

Finding  true  cause,  fire,  fire  thy  fiercest  shot ; 
Spoke  rightly,  ban  and  blessing  are  the  same. 


TIME'S   HOUSEHOLD.  73 


TIME'S   HOUSEHOLD. 

TIME  is  a  lowly  peasant,  with  whom  bred 

Are  sons  of  kings,  of  an  immortal  race. 

Their  garb  to  their  condition  they  debase, 
Eat  of  his  fare,  make  on  his  straw  their  bed ; 
Conversing,  use  his  homely  dialect 

(Giving  the  words  some  meaning  of  their  own), 

Till,  half  forgetting  purple,  sceptre,  throne, 
Themselves  his  children  mere  they  nigh  suspect. 

And  when,  divinely  moved,  one  goes  away, 
His  royal  right  and  glory  to  resume, 

Loss  of  his  rags  appears  his  life's  decay : 
He  weeps,  and  his  companions  mourn  his  doom. 

Yet  doth  a  voice  in  every  bosom  say, 
"  So  perish  buds  while  bursting  into  bloom/' 

Printed  1861. 


74  GEE  AT  LOVE. 


GREAT  LOVE. 

DIDST  them  not  love  me,  were  there  any  day? 

Ah,  for  thy  love  how  then  my  lips  could  plead ! 
But,  since  thou  lov'st  me,  love  me  not,  I  pray ; 

For,  being  loved,  denial  is  my  need. 
O  blessed  Eden,  garden  of  my  soul ! 

Summon  thine  austere  angel ;  bid  him  stand 
Before  the  gate,  and  with  a  stern  control 

Wave  prohibition  toward  this  outer  land. 
To  love  I  kneel,  and  pray  for  love's  reproof ; 

For,  wert  thou  less  mine  own,  I  might  not  dare 
To  trust  thy  heart  would  hold  my  heart  aloof, 

And  nip  its  budding  hopes  with  frosty  air. 
But,  oh  !  thy  love  is  great,  nor  will  destroy : 

Too  great  it  is  to  slay  my  heart  with  joy. 


EXPRESSION.  75 


EXPRESSION. 

OH  !  I  am  false,  if  I  be  coldly  true, 

And  voice  my  heart  by  rigid  rule  and  measure. 
Love-moved,  love's  pinion  let  its  flight  pursue, 

And  to  outgo  cold  reason  make  a  pleasure. 
So,  by  divineness  of  love's  look  incited, 

My  heart,  not  wrongly,  hails  each  star  of  heaven : 
"  Thence  were  of  old,"  it  cries,  "  your  torches  lighted, 

Thine,  lone  Arcturus  ?  yours,  ye  silver  seven  ?  " 
The  heavens  it  whispers,  "  If  your  blue  did  fade, 

There  were  an  eye  should  make  you  blest  again  ; 
For  Nature  there  hath  prudently  forelaid 

And  treasured  store  of  sky  to  meet  all  drain." 
And  if  these  fancies  hot,  cool  reason  chide, 
Reason  doth  blush,  and  haste  his  face  to  hide. 


76  TO   OUR   ONLY. 


TO    OUR    ONLY. 

5.  -  jfft 


THOUGH  Night's  dark  pall  about  the  earth  be  drawn, 

Our  spirits  are  not  shrouded  ;  for  the  sun 
Again,  we  know,  will  beam  ;  again  the  dawn, 

To  blush  sweet  heralding,  before  him  run. 
Therefore,  in  peace  of  heart  do  we  behold 

The  god  declining  from  his  throne  on  high, 
Till  Evening  couch  him  in  her  dying  gold, 

And  leave  the  Slumber-queen  to  rule  the  sky. 
Oh!  if  we  doubted!  —  if  beneath  the  West, 

Unpromised  to  the  morrow,  day  went  down, 
All  hearts  were  sinking  as  he  sank  to  rest, 

All  hopes  would  die  before  Night's  cruel  frown. 
But  thou,  our  only,  dearer  than  the  day, 
Ah  !  what  returning,  if  thou  pass  away  ? 


TO   OUR   ONLY.  11 


EL  —  fHorning. 

As  when  a  white-winged  ship  has  left  the  shore, 

And  they  that  followed  her  with  loving  eyes 
Look  where  she  was,  and  see  her  there  no  more, 

They  deem  her  safe  beneath  remoter  skies, 
And  think  the  breeze  that  bore  her  from  their  sight 

A  fortune  fairer  than  sweet  summer  calm : 
So  from  our  vision  shouldst  thou  vanish  quite, 

God-laden  barque,  thus  could  I  tune  my  psalm,  - 
"  Though  'yond  the  horizon  sinks  thy  snowy  sail, 

'Tis  that  to  thy  swift  heart  the  heavenly  wind 
Blows  such  prosperity.     Things  mortal  fail 

In  speed,  and,  lingering,  are  left  behind. 
Though  space  were  drowning,  thou  wert  all  secure ; 
Though  sun's  forgot  returning,  soul  were  sure." 


78  LOVE  AGAINST  LOVE. 


LOVE  AGAINST  LOVE. 

As  unto  blowing  roses  summer  dews, 

Or  morning's  amber  to  the  tree-top  choirs, 
So  to  my  bosom  are  the  beams  that  use 

To  rain  on  me  from  eyes  that  love  inspires. 
Your  love,  vouchsafe  it,  royal-hearted  few, 

And  I  will  set  no  common  price  thereon  ; 
Oh !  I  will  keep  as  heaven  its  holy  blue, 

Or  night  her  diamonds,  that  dear  treasure  won. 
But  aught  of  inward  faith  must  I  forego, 

Or  miss  one  drop  from  Truth's  baptismal  hand, 
Think  poorer  thoughts,  pray  cheaper  prayers,  and  grow 

Less  worthy  trust,  to  meet  your  heart's  demand  ? 
Farewell !     Your  wish  I  for  your  sake  deny  ; 
Rebel  to  love  in  truth  to  love  am  I. 


TO   G.   L.    S.  79 


TO   G.  L.  S. 

BY  all  the  purest  love  I  bear  my  kind, 
By  all  the  hope  I  have  of  human  weal, 
By  all  of  duty,  resolute  and  leal, 

That  ever  may  my  spirit  bless  and  bind, 

Am  I  to  thee  drawn  closer  and  affined, 

Thou  mankind's  lover,  whom  to  name  my  friend 
Were  prodigal,  as  on  myself  to  spend 

A  public  wealth,  for  myriads  designed. 
I  near  thy  spirit  as  Missouri  bears 

His  waters  to  his  brother  stream,  not  through 

Fondness,  as  wooed  of  thee,  or  thee  to  woo  ; 
But  never  is  my  heart  on  noble  cares 
Rightly  intent,  but  whither  it  repairs 

Thy  soul  with  earnest  tide  is  flowing  too. 

February,  1860. 


80  PRIDE. 


PRIDE. 

COULD  one  ascend  with  an  unheard-of  flight, 
And  skyward,  skyward  without  limit  soar, 
As  if  the  pinion  of  a  god  he  wore, 

Till  earth  were  left  a  dwindling  star,  whose  light 

Flew  faint  upon  his  track,  —  at  last  his  height 

All  height  would  vanquish ;  there  in  deeps  of  space 
Were  neither  upper  nor  inferior  place : 

Distinction's  little  zone  below  him  quite. 
Oh !  happy  dreams  of  such  a  soul  have  I, 

And  softly  to  my  heart  of  him  I  sing, 

Whose  seraph  pride  all  pride  doth  overwing, 
Soars  unto  meekness,  reaches  low  by  high, 
And,  as  in  grand  equalities  of  the  sky, 

Stands  level  with  the  beggar  and  the  king. 


NATURAL   SELECTION.  81 


NATURAL  SELECTION. 

ORMUZD  had  fashioned  glorious  Lives,  about 

His  face  to  shine ;  but  Ah  rim  an,  his  foe, 

With  shapes  of  death  these  counterfeited  so, 
That  with  the  blessed  his  dissembling  rout 
Mingled,  and  e'en  the  eye  divine  had  doubt 

Which  were  the  true  Immortals.     So  made  he 

A  sphere  and  kingdom  of  mortality, 
Called  Earth,  whereto  he  bade  all  journey  out. 

Then  quick  was  doubt  dissolved  and  clearness  bred ; 
For  fell  the  false  ones  all,  and  grovelled  prone, 
Enchanted  with  attraction  of  their  own, 

And  eager  from  death's  tables  to  be  fed ; 

While  mid  the  gloom  Life  reared  a  radiant  head, 
And,  flying  homeward,  far  through  aether  shone. 

Printed  October,  1867. 


82  ROYALTY. 


ROYALTY. 

THAT  regal  soul  I  reverence,  in  whose  eyes 

Suffices  not  all  worth  the  city  knows 

To  pay  that  debt  which  his  own  heart  he  owes ; 
For  less  than  level  to  his  bosom  rise 
The  low  crowd's  heaven  and  stars  ;  above  their  skies 

Runneth  the  road  his  daily  feet  have  pressed  ; 

A  loftier  heaven  he  beareth  in  his  breast, 
And  o'er  the  summits  of  achieving  hies 

With  never  a  thought  of  merit  or  of  meed, 
Choosing  divinest  labors  through  a  pride 

Of  soul  that  holdeth  appetite  to  feed 
Ever  on  noblest  doing,  naught  beside  ; 

Nor  praises  more  himself  for  hero-deed 
Than  stones  for  weight,  or  open  seas  for  tide. 


DEFIANCE.  83 


DEFIANCE. 

TIME'S  wonted  ravage  shall  not  touch  my  love. 

His  wrath  I  challenge,  his  assault  defy. 
Kust  gathered  never  on  the  blue  above, 

Nor  blearing  film  upon  day's  golden  eye  ; 
Earth  and  the  heavens  have  gems  that  are  eterne, 

The  ruby  whitens  not  with  bleach  of  years ; 
Ever  Orion  and  his  brothers  burn, 

Nor  even  despair  itself  their  fading  fears. 
Oh  !  would  he  say,  who  all  truth  did  discern, 

That  you,  then,  stars  of  my  heart's  heaven,  may  die  ? 
Or  can  that  heart  its  secret  quite  unlearn, 

Nor  be  illumined  when  your  light  is  nigh  ? 
Though  Time  o'ercame  the  skies,  their  azure  staining, 
Time's  lord  were  Love,  immortal  and  unwaning. 


84  TO   THE  FIFTY-FOURTH  REGIMENT. 


TO   THE  FIFTY-FOURTH  REGIMENT   OF 
MASSACHUSETTS    VOLUNTEERS. 

AMERICA  has  owned  you  men  at  last ! 

Plough  that  confession  in  by  noble  deed, 

And  reverence  for  your  race  shall  from  the  seed 
Grow  up  to  grandeur  strong  and  rooted  fast. 
Oh,  ye  have  high  incitement !     Hear  the  Past 

Implore  you  by  its  sorrow,  wrong,  and  shame ! 

The  Future,  that  will  blossom  in  your  fame, 
Awaits  your  act.     Behold,  a  concourse  vast, 

The  unborn  myriads  of  your  race,  are  there, 
Are  tented  with  you  ;  hands  unseen  reach  out 

Innumerable,  the  soldier's  gun  to  share ; 
While  angels  of  man's  destiny  about 
Your  standards  throng,  and  with  a  secret  shout, 

When  ye  are  noble,  fill  to  heaven  the  air. 

1863. 


TO  PRESIDENT  JOHNSON.  85 


TO  PRESIDENT  JOHNSON. 


OH  !  I  have  seen  a  ship  by  storm  beset, 

When  all  the  skies  had  burst  in  tempest  craze, 
When  the  wild  billows  ran  in  divers  ways, 

And  bellowing  surge  by  counter-surge  was  met, 

Until  the  cloudy  cheek  of  heaven  was  wet 
With  their  contending  fury.     I  have  seen 
The  good  ship  caught  these  warring  waves  between, 

That  all  her  oak  and  iron  heart  did  fret 

With  grinding  pain.     Whereon  the  seaman  brave 

Would  turn  her  head  (such  his  sole  wisdom  now), 
That  she  might  boldly  face  the  fiercer  wave, 

Meeting  its  onset  with  dividing  prow  ; 

And  then  the  sea,  that  else  had  been  her  grave, 

Did  burst  upon  her  vainly,  burst  and  bow. 


86  TO  PRESIDENT  JOHNSON. 


In  thee  that  wrestling  barque  I  see  again, 

'Twixt  cross-seas  vexed,  and  in  a  stormy  hour, 
Until  one  deems  that  even  thy  heart  of  power, 
Though  ribbed  with  steel,  may  scarce  endure  the  strain. 
Oh  !  from  the  seaman,  then,  a  lesson  gain  : 

Lie  not  entroughed  between  opposing  seas, 

But  face  the  foe  of  freedom  and  of  peace 
With  conquering  prow,  and  make  his  onset  vain. 

Lo,  thou  art  laden  with  immortal  freight, 
With  sacred  hopes  that  through  long  ages  ran, 

Sweeter  than  life,  and  with  thy  country's  fate  : 
High-hearted,  make  thine  own  the  seaman's  plan, 

Head,  head  the  billows  that  rolled  red  of  late, 
And  still  are  rolling  'gainst  the  hope  of  man. 

1865. 


TO   CHARLES   SUMNER.  87 


TO   CHARLES  SUMNER. 

THOU  and  the  stars,  our  Sumner,  still  shine  on ! 

No  dark  will  dim,  no  spending  waste,  thy  ray 

And  we  as  soon  could  doubt  the  milky  way, 
Whether  enduring  be  its  silver  zone, 
As  question  of  thy  truth.     Their  light  is  gone, 

Whose  beam  was  borrowed :  ever  Accident, 

Upon  a  day,  the  garment  it  has  lent 
Strips  off,  makes  beggars  of  its  kings  anon. 

Thou  and  the  stars  eternal,  inly  fed 
From  God's  own  bosom  with  celestial  light, 

Must  needs  emit  the  glory  in  ye  bred  : 
Alike  it  is  your  nature  to  be  bright : 

And  I,  while  thou  art  shining  overhead, 
Know  God  is  with  us  in  the  gloomy  night. 


88  TO    WILLIAM  H.   SEWABD. 


TO    WILLIAM  H.    SEWARD. 

HE  is  a  Master  in  the  ship  of  State, 

Who  shapes  in  port,  and  keeps  at  sea,  his  aim ; 

Who  can  abide  in  storm  and  calm  the  same, 
Making  right  reason  dominant  over  fate. 
The  fickle  winds  may  veer  and  vacillate : 

His  purpose  points  in  one  direction  still ; 

The  billows  toss  his  keel,  but  not  his  will : 
For  to  pure  law  his  high  thoughts  penetrate. 

And  while  his  fortunes  fare  upon  the  sea, 
His  soul  hath  footing  on  the  eternal  floor. 

Seward  !     Art  thou  that  statesman  ?    Art  thou  he, 
Who  wills  in  war  no  less,  in  peace  no  more, 

And  makes  the  best  thought  of  his  privacy 
A  public  deed,  though  treason  plot  and  roar  ? 


PEACE.  89 


PEACE, 
to  3.  ©.  S2HL 

PEACE,  noble  friend,  not  in  the  mouth  has  birth, 
No  progeny  of  lip  or  supple  tongue, 
Nor  of  man's  complaisance  or  cunning  sprung. 

Daughter  of  Right  Eternal,  she  the  worth 
Of  his  divinity  doth  so  much  adore, 

And  to  him  in  her  heart  such  love  is  bred, 

That  ever  toward  his  face  her  eye  is  sped, 
And  bound  are  all  her  wishes  evermore 

To  his  dear  pleasure  ;  so  whene'er  he  look 
Approval  on  a  land  where  right  is  done, 
Unto  that  land  her  gracious  heart  is  won, 

Its  ill  estate  her  sweet  will  cannot  brook, 

And  over  it  her  wings  of  blessing,  shook, 
Rain  amities,  like  day-beams  from  the  sun. 


90  DOOM. 


DOOM. 

I  DREAMED.     A  base  man  won  a  throne,  when  lo  ! 

The  earth  beneath  it  fell,  became  a  pit, 

The  throne  therein,  with  waters  drowning  it. 
Then  to  his  vassals  called  the  tyrant,  "  Ho  ! 

Sustain  my  throne  !  "     Quick  hied  an  army  vast, 
That  raised,  bore  out,  and  placed  it  on  a  plain  : 
Down  went  the  level,  'twas  a  pit  again, 

Wherein  the  whelming  tides  were  rising  fast. 
Then  up  an  Alp  they  bare  it,  perch  it  high, 

And  cry,  "Thy  throne  this  granite  shall  uphold, 
And  make  thee,  king,  companion  of  the  sky, 

Mating  thy  spendor  with  the  morning  gold." 

'Tis  an  abyss  or  ere  their  tale  is  told  : 
Buried  like  Pharaoh,  king  and  vassal  lie. 


HAPPINESS.  91 


HAPPINESS. 

FLEETER  than  foot  of  roe  art  thou  to  shun 

Their  hot  pursuit,  who  thee  alone  desire  ; 

Swift  to  betray  the  hope  thou  dost  inspire, 
And  make  their  meed,  who  all  forsake  to  run 

Upon  thy  track,  a  painted  shadow  won  ; 
But  them  awaitest,  that  forget  to  sigh 
When  in  brave  journeying  they  pass  thee  by, 

As  joy  that  ends  what  duty  has  begun. 
Seeker  thyself,  if  nobly  thou'rt  unsought, 

But  good  that  still  its  covetous  follower  flies, 
And  only  by  them  found,  by  whom  forgot 

In  valiant  thoughts,  that  occupy  the  wise, 
For  them  that  woo  and  them  that  woo  thee  not, 

Denied  or  given,  thou  art  still  surprise. 


92  DELIVERANCE. 


DELIVERANCE. 
I. 

THY  voice,  Fremont,  hath  broke  th'  accursed  spell ! 

Now  all  the  wizards  may,  with  busy  hand, 

Wave,  to  restore  it,  each  his  ancient  wand, 
Potent  erewhile  to  thrall  with  influence  fell 
What  high  faith  in  the  nation's  soul  doth  dwell ; 

Potent  no  more  forever  :  we  are  free  ! 

Questioned  witli  one  heroic  touch  by  thee, 
The  nation's  heart  rings  out,  as  if  a  bell 

In  heaven  by  some  archangel  smitten  now, 
Did,  as  a  signal,  through  the  azure  say, 
"  A  damning  stain  from  earth  is  washed  away, 

Who  shall  henceforward  wear  a  whiter  brow 

Joyous  among  the  stars."     And,  Hero,  thou 
Art  as  a  star  preluding  sweeter  day. 


DELIVERANCE.  93 


HE. 


O  eye,  that  canst  discern  the  cloud  and  flame  ! 

O  eagle  spirit,  tit  for  high  career ! 
True  thou  continuest  to  thine  early  fame, 

And  art,  as  erst,  a  people's  Pioneer, 

Across  the  desert  teaching  it  to  steer ; 
Mid  all  the  terrors  of  our  time,  the  same 

As  when  through  mountain  cloud-wrack,  void  of 

fear, 
Thou  held'st  toward  lands  of  gold,  high-hearted  aim. 

O'er  darker  desert  now  and  craggier  peak, 
Stormed  on,  alas !  with  a  more  blinding  snow, 

And  buffeted  by  winds  more  bitter-bleak, 
Thine  eye,  thy  footstep,  must  before  us  go 
To  lands  with  joy  of  justice  all  aglow, 

To  lands  of  which  all  hopes  and  prophets  speak. 

18  61. 


94  DELUSION. 


DELUSION. 

UPON  the  mountain  summit,  pierced  with  cold, 

I  could  not  credit  summer's  heat  below ; 
Warm  yesterday,  as  some  fine  fable  old, 

Some  my  thus  of  the  golden  age,  did  show. 
So  on  these  peaks  of  matter,  distant  far 

From  Life  —  Itself,  the  Quickener  of  the  all, 
Our  souls,  so  pressed  with  sense,  deluded  are, 

And  doubtingly  their  home,  their  right,  recall. 
Sweet  in  the  bosom  memories  will  teem 

Of  birth  and  bliss  empyreal,  but  we  smile, 
We  smile  despair,  then  say,  "  T'is  but  a  dream : 

Clay,  clay  is  real,  nor  doth  our  thought  beguile." 
Courage,  my  soul !     Thy  dream  renew,  renew  ! 
The  worlds  are  shadows;  spirit's  dream  is  true. 

Published  in  1866. 


TO  .  95 


TO 


OLD  memories  of  you,  my  noble  friend, 
Bloom  ever  in  me,  bloom  and  breathe  new  life ; 
And,  like  the  bee,  my  heart  folds  down  her  wings 
Upon  them  oft,  to  rise  and  fly  with  store 
The  bee  might  envy  ! 

You  have  lost  your  voice, 

The  Colonel  writes  me.    Would  God  there  were  many 
That  with  the  voice  might  speak  to  me,  as  you, 
Clear,  eloquent  soul,  without  it!     'Mid  the  roar 
Of  this  rude,  striving  world,  I  hear  your  life 
Pouring  its  music,  even  as  one  might  hear, 
Far  off,  a  chime  of  silver  bells,  that  hints 
Of  mounting  orisons,  of  happy  hymns, 
Unfailing  trust  and  immemorial  peace. 
So  sweet,  so  pure  it  comes,  that  I  could  deem 
The  winged  angels  of  the  air,  that  bring, 
Sigh  to  deliver  it,  and  pass  away 
Unwilling. 

In  the  western  heavens  our  sun 
Is  now  declining,  and  day's  drowsy  lid 


9G  TO  . 

Betokens  close :  soon  come  the  night  and  sleep. 
What  of  the  morrow  ?     Meet  we  there  again  ? 
Ah,  not  again,  I  trust !     Whatever  Death 
Hath  power  to  part,  apart  forever,  when 
His  hand  hath  come  between,  let  that  remain ! 
I  will  not  idly  grudge  to  Time  and  Change 
And  Death  their  little  perquisite,  nor  make 
Ignoble  quarrel,  listing  to  reclaim 
Their  seasonable  spoil.     But  you  and  I  — 
How  part  they  who  are  one,  made  one  in  love  ? 
Here  and  Hereafter  —  love  knows  not  the  words 
Let  Time  be  modest,  claiming  but  his  own  ! 

1867. 


TO  IRISH-BORN  AMERICANS.  97 


TO  IRISH-BORN  AMERICANS. 

Now,  men  of  Erin,  now  the  time  is  come 

When  you  must  speak,  or  see  your  ancient  name 

Sunk  to  perdition  of  eternal  shame  ; 
For  'twere  confession  full,  did  ye  sit  dumb 
While  crimes  enormous,  horror's  perfect  sum, 

Emerge  as  from  your  household.     Oh  !  speak  out. 

And  make  an  end  forever  of  all  doubt. 
Your  souls  are  human,  not  a  poisonous  scum 

Topping  the  hissing  caldron  of  mad  hate. 
Be  just,  then,  to  yourselves,  and  tell  these  new 

Dragon-reformers,  who  prepared  of  late, 

With  broadcast  slaughter  indiscriminate, 
Right  of  home-rule  to  argue,  that  their  true 
Compatriots  are  devils  damned,  not  you. 

1882  (?). 


98  TO  MBS.    C.    W.   II. 


TO   MRS.    C.     W.    H. 

SINCE  from  these  darkened  eyes  the  printed  word 
Was  hidden,  thou,  at  thine  own  bounty's  cost, 
Hast  laid  upon  thy  voice  their  office  lost ; 

And  treasure  rich,  in  many  a  volume  stored, 

Has  through  the  music  of  thy  lips  been  poured,  — 
Whether  the  poet's  fantasy  divine, 
Wit's  jewel  sparkling,  wisdom's  pregnant  line, 

Or  learning's  slow-ingathered,  golden  hoard. 
Thus,  when  some  theme  in  musing  I  recall,  — 

Perchance  how  Milton's  mighty  organ  blows, 

Or  how  young  England  weak  to  greatness  rose,  — 
Thy  voice  hath  gone  before ;  and  still  through  all 
Upon  my  ear  afresh  its  accents  fall, 

To  add  a  grace  that  with  returning  grows. 

March  1,  1884. 


SURCEASE.  99 


SURCEASE. 

THE  bird  that  poured  from  palpitating  throat 
Enchanted  greeting  to  the  blooms  of  spring, 
Then  mid  the  leaves  of  summer  loved  to  sing, 

Hushes,  when  autumn  comes,  his  happy  note  ; 

For  plainer  garb  puts  off  his  tinted  coat ; 
And,  making  ready  for  another  shore, 
Seems,  ere  he  fly,  to  be  himself  no  more, 

His  joy,  his  beauty,  and  his  art,  forgot. 
O  heart  that  once  thy  thrilling  secret  told 

In  warblings  low  and  fitful,  but  unfeigned, 

Now  still  thou  art,  to  dumb  endurance  trained ! 
For  thee,  too,  time  hath  touched  with  finger  cold. 
Ah  !  wilt  thou,  with  the  bird,  new  life  unfold, 

When  thy  near  winter  for  a  while  hath  reigned  ? 


100  O'ER    THE  SANDED  FLOOR. 


O'ER    THE  SANDED   FLOOR. 

"MAY  I  go  to  my  cousin's,  my  mother? 

May  I  go  ?     'Tis  a  good  afternoon." 

"Not  to-day:   you  must   stay  with   the    dear  little 

brother. 

.Not  to-day,  it  is  quite  too  soon." 
She  sits  o'er  the  sanded  floor, 
By  the  fireplace  wide  and  high ; 
And  there  she  is  sitting  for  me  evermore, 
Still  and  pure  as  a  star  in  the  sky. 
A  child  of  three  summer  seasons  then, 
Three  dreaming  summers,  was  I ;  and  when 
Another  was  gone  of  those  long  years, 
Unmothered  a  month  had  I  been. 

I  cannot  remember  my  tears, 

So  long  was  the  time  ago  ; 

I  cannot  remember  the  day 

That  wrought  me  this  orphan  woe, 

So  far,  so  far  I  have  voyaged  away ; 


O'ER    THE  SANDED   FLOOR.  101 

And  lost  to  my  earthly  memory  sheer 
Were  the  mother  God  gave  my  soul, 
But  that  imaged  there,  and  imaged  so  clear, 
She  meeteth  me  loving  and  whole. 

There  under  the  East  of  life, 

There  calm  by  the  murmuring  shore, 

Beyond  these  billows  of  manhood  strife, 

She  lives  to  my  heart  evermore. 

I  come  to  the  sacred  knees, 

I  sit  by  the  honored  feet, 

I  look  with  a  pure  heart's  ease 

Up  to  the  features  firm  and  sweet, 

And  the  deep  blue  eye,  so  brooding  calm, 

So  wealthy  with  woman-store, 

That  its  look  is  both  a  blessing  and  psalm, 

Yet  solaces  all  my  soul  with  balm, 

And  healing  on  every  hurt  doth  pour. 

And  while  these  tidings  at  my  heart's  door 

The  messenger  days  repeat,  repeat, 

With  heavenly  gaze  those  eyes  will  greet 

Me,  hastening  over  the  sanded  floor. 


102  LOST. 


LOST. 

THE  doors  of  heaven  were  ope  one  day 

A  baby  sprite  stole  out, 
And,  wandering  far  in  cherub  play, 

He  reached  the  realm  of  doubt. 

The  dark  came  on.     Oh,  lie  was  lost ! 

And  hark  !  that  babe  divine, 
Whose  torn  feet  tread  a  nigh  ted  coast, 

It  is  this  heart  of  mine. 

And  now  'tis  like  a  little  child 

That  wanders  all  alone, 
Unpitied,  through  a  desert  wild, 

The  homeward  way  unknown. 

Echoes  of  heaven  are  in  its  ear, 

On  high  its  angel  star  ; 
But,  oh !  the  dark  and  wild  are  near, 

And  heaven  and  truth  are  far. 


THE   BRIDE.  103 


THE   BRIDE. 

SHE  wronged  me  with  suspicion,  then  she  died ; 

She  broke  her  plighted  troth,  and  broke  her  heart ; 
With  pale  espousal,  when  I  left  her  side, 

Death  followed,  wooing  her  with  better  art. 

Ah  !  but  between  there  was  a  woful  space, 

Wherein  her  mute  eyes  made  their  plea  to  mine. 

Alas !  who  can  restore  the  shattered  vase  ? 
Who  force  the  Past  his  having  to  resign  ? 

Pierced  with  deceit,  low  lay  my  fainting  trust, 
Hurt  far  beyond  all  witchery  of  an  eye  ; 

Nor  could  she  wait  its  S!OAV  reviving,  —  must 
At  once  be  perfect  in  her  joy,  or  die. 

Death  came,  my  cold  successor,  all  too  soon, 

With  icy  ardors  uttering  his  vows ; 
And,  ere  my  night  had  ended,  gloomed  his  noon : 

I  wept  behind  her  going  to  his  house. 


104  THE  BRIDE. 

And  weeping  joined  my  heart  to  hers  with  tears, 
As  Death  my  proxy  were,  to  win  her  hand: 

Unwedded  here  I  pass  the  waiting  years, 
Till  come  my  bridal  in  another  land. 


GIVE  ME  BEST.  105 


GIVE  ME   EEST. 

THOU  aching  heart,  when  will  thy  throbbing  cease, 

And  rest  allay  the  pulse's  feverish  thrill  ? 
Will  the  great  Slayer  bring  the  hour  of  peace, 

And  at  his  bidding  thou  at  length  be  still  ? 

AVill  coursing  life,  when  he  hath  quaffed  his  fill, 
Find  on  his  lowly  bed  unbroken  sleep, 

As  from  the  sea  of  ages  years  distil  ? 
Or  yet  as  here  his  weary  vigils  keep, 
Lie  down  to  dream,  and  wake  to  watch  and  pray  and 
weep  ? 

Oh,  give  me  rest !     This  only  boon  I  ask. 

Let  others  have  the  richer  gifts  they  pray  : 
I  would  resign  the  pleasures  with  the  task, 

And  gladly  follow  where  this  lonely  lay 

To  dim  forgetf ulness  will  lead  the  way  ; 
Nor  kneel  to  fame,  nor  seek  her  laurel  crown, 

To  meet  the  reaper,  Death,  in  proud  array, 
But,  like  a  tired  child,  would  lay  me  down, 
And  every  memory  in  sweet  oblivion  drown. 

1842. 


106  APOLOGY  FOE   A   RUGGED   STYLE. 


PHCEBUS-CARLYLE  AND  ADDIS ON' S  GHOST, 
OR,  APOLOGY  FOR  A  RUGGED  STYLE, 

3^  —  <Elitjison's  (Sfyost  a&mivcs  anti  expostulates. 

"  HORSES  of  the  sun  are  Hying 

Lightning-footed,  fiery  fast ; 
Vain  is  JEolus  emulous  vying, 

Lags  behind  his  fleetest  beast. 
Oh,  how  lightly,  featly,  sprightly, 

Flit  they  under  Phoebus'  rein ! 
Guide  them  rightly,  hold  them  tightly, 

Or  they'll  fire  the  heavens  again ! 

"But  what  means  this  stertorous  breathing? 

Phoebus'  horses  touched  with  4  heaves  '  ? 
Is't  their  lungs  so  hotly  seething  ? 

Ah,  my  very  soul  it  grieves ! 
Now  I  call,  O  Scotch  Apollo, 

My  steeds  breathed  with  perfect  ease ; 
No  sound  hollow  them  did  follow : 

Your  team,  —  bless  me  !  how  they  wheeze  !  " 


APOLOGY  FOR   A    HUGGED   STYLE.  107 


explains. 


"  Ay,  'tis  pretty  hard  I  work  'em, 
Daily  through  from  east  to  west  ; 

While  I  round  a  globe,  you'd  circum 

navigate  a  sparrow's  nest  ! 
Me,  a  mortal,  heaven's  court  all 

Gave  this  team  that  work  to  do  ; 

Breaths  are  short  all,  pant  and  snort  all, 

But,  my  friend  —  they  bear  me  through! 

"  If  your  journey  be  but  petty, 

And  your  soul  at  leisure,  then 
Breath  be  calm,  and  port  be  pretty, 

As  your  gentle  style  has  been. 
Speed  your  paces  through  star-spaces, 

While  the  fire  soul  of  a  sphere 
In  them  races,  then  the  case  is 

Somewhat  otherwise,  —  as  here  !  " 


108  SIIIREEN  AND    THE  BEE. 


SHIREEN  AND    THE  BEE. 

SHIREEN  went  out  'mid  the  blooms  of  May, 
And  gladdened  the  lea  with  a  rarer  bloom : 

On  a  breathing  bank  of  flowers  she  lay, 

And  sweetened  the  breath  of  their  perfume, 
Gave  balm  to  the  breath  of  their  perfume. 

She    sang    from    her    heart  ;    and    the    bird    on    the 


bough 


Pouring  paradise  out  of  a  quivering  throat, 
Grew  silent  to  hear  her;  and  ah!  now,  now, 
No  more  he  delights  in  his  OAVII  glad  note, 
No  longer  he  pipeth  his  own  pure  note. 

On  her  bed  of  bloom  she  closed  then  her  eyes, 
And  gave  herself  up  to  the  peace  of  her  breast ; 

And  sleep  stole  down  from  a  watch  in  the  skies, 
To  win  a  new  charm  from  her  virgin  rest, 
To  gather  new  balm  from  her  angel  rest. 


SIIlItEEX   AND    THE   BEE.  109 

A  bee  was  flying  the  honey  to  sip 

From  maiden  bosoms  of  roses  Dew-blown  ; 

But  their  bosoms  he  left,  and  flew  to  her  lip, 
And  would  feed  all  summer  on  that  alone, 
Would  fill  up  his  hive  from  that  alone. 

But,  ah !  too  deep  the  delight  of  the  bee, 
And  soon  he  wanteth  all  will  to  fly : 

"  Oh  !  there's  no  summer  but  here,"  quoth  he, 
"  And  here,  only  here,  will  I  live  and  die,  — 
It  were  life  upon  such  a  couch  to  die/' 

She  woke,  and  him  from  his  trance  of  bliss 
Swept  lightly  away  with  ivory  hand  ; 

But  now  for  the  bee  no  honey  but  this ! 
No  roses  are  sweet  in  all  the  land,  — 
One  sweet,  and  but  one,  in  all  the  land. 

Where  violets  cluster,  languid  his  wing : 
Where  apple-trees  blossom,  vacant  his  eye ; 

He  can  find  in  his  flight  no  winsome  thing  : 
"My  summer  is  over,"  he  saith  with  a  sigh; 
"  My  summers  are  o'er,  I  can  only  die." 


110  TO  DEATH. 


TO   DEATH. 

REFUGE  from  envy's  fierce  pursuing, 
And  limit  to  our  self-undoing ; 
Pruner  of  Time,  that  lopp'st  decay 
And  fruit-defeating  growth  away  ; 
Vintner,  that  from  his  purpled  vine 
Crushest  for  heaven  its  sacred  wine,  — 
E'en  when  the  sweetest  cup  we're  quaffing, 
When  life  within  the  heart  is  laughing, 
When  our  great  peace  doth  seem  a  river 
That  well  might  fill  the  full  Forever, 
When  the  rich  day  makes  Hope  a  debtor, 
And  Wish  himself  can  wish  no  better, 
E'en  then  thine  offices  appear 
More  worthy  welcome  than  a  tear ; 
For  well  we  know  our  golden  hour? 
Are  deep  indebted  to  thy  powers ; 
No  light  of  life  nor  smile  benign 
But  half  its  luminance  is  thine  ; 


TO  DEATH.  Ill 

No  gift  from  heaven  our  hands  receive, 
But  thou  dost  help  the  heavens  to  give ; 
Thy  sateless  hunger  feeds  our  bliss ; 
Our  sun  would  pale  thy  shade  to  miss. 


112  NOONTIDE. 


NOONTIDE. 

THE  sun.  slept  o'er  the  world, 
The  light  dreamed  in  the  air, 

Like  plumes  of  silence  stood  the  trees, 
Bright  calm  was  everywhere. 

Babe-like  the  river  lay 

Sweet  on  earth's  bosom  wide, 

And  all  the  stream  of  being  showed 
No  ripple  on  its  tide. 

But  in  my  heart  were  strife 

And  battle's  loud  uproar, 
And  there  the  angry  sea  of  life 

Beat  fiercely  on  the  shore. 

For  I  had  seen  the  weak, 
Pale  victim  of  the  strong ; 

And  Law,  the  traitor,  blessing  loud 
The  brazen  arm  of  Wrong. 


3  OO  XT  IDE.  113 

And  like  a  little  bird 

Whirlwinded  through  the  skies, 
While  far  below  a  flowery  land 

In  peace  of  summer  lies ; 

Thus  puny,  thus  apart 

From  that  joy-drowsy  noon, 
My  heart  was  dizzied,  till  it  deemed 

Each  pebble's  rest  a  boon. 

44  O  Nature  !  "  now  I  cried, 

"  Receive  thy  child  again  : 
In  thine  eternal  stillness  hush 

The  throbbing  of  his  brain. 

"  Make  him  a  part  of  thee, 

Hid  in  thy  bosom  vast, 
All  doubt  and  war,  all  hope  and  fear, 

Forever  overpast." 

But  while  I  weakly  prayed, 

Great  Nature,  far  within, 
With  awful  voice  of  silence  said, 

"  Be  still !     Forbear  to  sin  ! 


NOONTIDE. 

"  Live  them  thy  life  —  no  less ; 

Live  thou  thy  life  — no  more  ; 
The  doing  be  the  deed's  success, 

Thy  giving  be  thy  store. 

"  Quit  not  thy  heart ;  than  that 

What  deadlier  ill  may  be  ? 
How  should  he  find  who  leaves  behind 

The  gem  he  looks  to  see  ? 

"  For  in  thine  ample  breast 
Are  heaven  and  earth  and  air ; 

All  Nature's  largeness,  sureness,  rest, 
Her  height  and  depth,  are  there. 

"  Sink,  sink  into  thy  soul ! 

Thou'rt  lost  in  me  thereby ; 
For  I,  the  stainless,  hurtless  Whole, 

Thy  veriest  self  am  I. 

"  In  each  the  boundless  All 

Begins  anew  to  be  ; 
And  who  on  his  own  heart  doth  fall, 

To  my  heart  cometh  he." 


NOONTIDE.  115 

The  sun  slept  o'er  the  world, 

The  light  dreamed  in  the  air : 
My  spirit,  folding  up  her  wings, 

Forgot  her  heavy  care. 

And  when  about  the  west 

Day  died  in  holy  calm, 
My  heart  of  peace  within  me  woke 

Meek  murmurs  of  a  psalm, — 

"  Right  royally  the  sun 

Rules  o'er  his  realm  of  day, 
And  royally  the  stellar  thrones 

Sit  in  their  silver  sway." 


June,  1854. 


116  THE  REVIVAL  PREACHER. 


THE  REVIVAL   PREACHER. 

"  THE  candle  of  the  Lord  I  must  not  hide, 

But  lift  it  up,  and  let  it  shine  afar. 
Oh,  how  are  duty  and  delight  allied ! 

How  sweet  for  Jesus'  sake  to  be  a  star, 
And  in  his  glory  to  be  glorified ! 

"  When  from  packed  floor  and  gallery,  the  eyes 
Of  awe-struck  sinners  fix  on  me  their  gaze, 

And  heaving  breasts  and  starting  tears  apprise 
My  heart  that  I  have  given  my  Saviour  praise, 

And  —  for  him  only  —  shine  in  glorious  wise, 

"  How  poor,  how  insignificant,  seem  then 
The  honors  of  this  world,  by  many  sought ! 

How  dull  the  splendors  of  mere  worldly  men ! 

Cheap,    farthing   rushlights !     Cheap,    but   dearly 
bought, 

Ne'er  shall  they  win  my  heart's  desire  again. 


THE  REVIVAL   PEE  AC  HER.  117 

"  For  once  /  sat  in  darkness,  and  held  dear 

The  faint  and  flickering  lights  of  earthly  fame ; 

But  grace  was  given  me  to  despise  whate'er 
Worldly  ambition  seeks  in  place  or  name,  — 

Grace  to  win  fame  for  heaven,  then  find  it  here. 

"  Lord,  glorify  thyself  'mongst  men  by  me  ; 

Be  flame  upon  my  lips  to  search  and  shine ; 
When  I  stand  up  before  men,  let  them  see 

That  them  art  with  me,  and  my  word  is  thine ; 
Oh,  make  me  eminent  for  piety ! 

"  Why  should  the  children  of  this  world  have  power 
To  charm  the  multitude  and  win  applause, 

While  those  that  are  thy  very  grace  in  flower 

Speak  as  with  stammering  tongue,  to  shame  thy 
cause  ? 

Exalt  thy  servants  in  thy  chosen  hour  ! 

"  Yea,  lift  me  up  !     My  glory,  see,  'tis  thine ; 

And  souls  in  multitudes  shall  crowd  the  gate 
Of  thine  eternal  city,  and  combine 

In  praise,  thy  word  of  power  to  celebrate. 
That,  from  my  lips  proceeding,  is  not  mine." 


118 


NATURE'S   TUNE. 


NATURE'S   TUNE. 

TUNE  of  the  heart  of  Nature, 

Say,  is  thy  cheer  so  brave,  — 
Cheer  for  every  creature, 

Cheer  for  cradle  and  grave  ? 
Down  from  the  vaulted  azure, 

Up  from  the  bosom  of  earth, 
Rolling  in  jubilant  measure, 

Go  the  great  harmonies  forth ; 
Say,  is  the  mighty  rejoicing 

Nature's  for  Nature  alone, 
Coldly  a  victory  voicing 

That  is  only  her  own  ? 


TO  .  119 


TO 


A  GREAT  light  glowing  into  life, 

A  great  warmth  conquering  in  the  breast, 
A  great  joy  drowning  care  and  strife, 

A  great  pang  shading  into  rest. 

And  what  is  this  that  doth  remain, 
Large,  sweet,  and  luminous  and  sure  ? 

A  joy  by  joy  begot  through  pain,  — 

Through  pain  immortal  made,  and  pure. 


120  MAY. 


MAY. 

THE  green  blades  are  springing, 

The  glad  birds  are  singing, 
The  sunlight  is  laughing  o'er  forest  and  lea ; 

And  the  heart  in  my  bosom 

Expands  in  each  blossom, 
It  grows  in  the  grass,  and  it  sings  from  the  tree. 

Is  it  true,  the  sweet  feeling 

Through  every  vein  stealing  ? 
Am  I  there,  do  I  live  in  the  breath  of  the  spring? 

In  the  many-voiced  carol 

And  the  sward's  green  apparel  ? 
In  the  far-flying  shine  is  my  soul  on  the  wing? 

0  Life !  many-sided, 
But  never  divided, 

Here  hid  in  a  bud,  there  bright  in  the  sun, 

1  live  in  thy  flowing : 

Thy  thought  is  my  knowing  : 
The  blossom,  the  bird,  and  mv  heart,  thev  are  one. 


THE   SUN. 


THE  SUN. 

RESPLENDENT  lyrist  of  the  sky, 

True  worshipper  of  thine  am  I : 

And  often  when  th'  inspired  East, 

With  radiant  forehead,  sacred  priest, 

Proclaims  thy  coming ;  or  the  West, 

In  robes  of  gold  and  purple  dressed, 

Receives  thee  at  his  doors  a  guest, 

My  head  wrill  bow,  my  heart  will  burn 

With  might;  with  might  my  spirit  yearn. 

A  solemn  joy,  a  blessed  fear, 

All  tides  of  heavenly  air  and  cheer, 

Through  my  flooded  bosom  run, 

And  sing  thy  claim,  O  living  Sun ! 

Adoring,  I  thy  godhead  see  ; 

Adoring,  list  thy  melody, 

That,  sounding  far  beyond  our  sphere, 

Filleth  with  marvel  all  the  year. 

Nor  listen  I  nor  bow  alone  ; 

All  worthy  hearts  the  wonder  own : 

In  every  time,  on  every  shore, 

As  in  child-hearted  Greece  of  yore, 


122  THE   SUN. 

Confession  that  our  lips  withhold, 
By  franker  heart  and  eye  is  told. 
"  Thou  art  a  god !  "  all  bosoms  cry : 
Lip-echo  of  these  hearts  am  I. 

Earth  and  man's  nature  are  thy  lyre  ; 
And  when  with  hand  of  golden  fire 
Thou  sweepest  it,  O  bard  divine  ! 
Out  leap  the  grass-blades,  notes  of  thine ; 
The  towering  trees  and  clustering  groves, 
The  birds  that  in  them  sing  their  loves ; 
All  flowers  that  bloom,  all  buds  that  swell ; 
These  tongues  that  do  the  story  tell 
Of  nature's  vernal  miracle. 
These  are  thy  music,  echoing  sweet 
Where'er  in  all  worlds  light  and  heat, 
With  water,  earth,  and  ether  meet. 
Life  is  their  art,  whose  mighty  span 
Reaches  from  weeds  to  thinking  man  ; 
Bloom  of  the  rose,  or  maiden's  cheek, 
Light  of  the  heavens,  or  ej-es  that  speak. 
The  sparrows  pipe  Beethoven's  tune, 
The  evening  and  the  morning's  rune. 
All  forms,  all  beauty,  all  desire, 
Are  echoes  of  thy  thrilling  lyre. 


GEOKDIE  NATUS.  123 


GEORDIE  NATUS,   AUG.   27,   1855. 

YE  beams  of  light,  dear  angels  bright, 
Whose  blessed  wings  reach  every  door, 

Entreat  me  fair,  my  message  bear 

To  him,  whose  heart  mine  hovers  o'er. 

The  journey  wide  my  love  shall  guide  ; 

My  love  unerring  knows  the  way,  - 
The  airy  road  has  often  trod, 

Alone  with  God,  by  night  or  day. 

Askest,  bright  ray,  what  thou  shalt  say 
To  him,  my  sweet,  my  cherub,  there  ? 

Ah  !  words  are  vain,  they  strive  amain, 
But  not  attain  to  speak  my  prayer. 

Ask  thou  of  God,  and  bear  abroad 
To  my  small  saint  his  word  divine  : 

He  knows  my  heart,  and  shall  impart, 
Beyond  word's  art,  his  wish  —  and  mine 

Aug.  27,  1857. 


124  ALL'S    WELL. 


ALL'S    WELL. 

SWEET-VOICED  Hope,  thy  fine  discourse 

Foretold  not  half  life's  good  to  me  : 
Thy  painter,  Fancy,  hath  not  force 
To  show  how  sweet  it  is  to  be  ! 

Thy  witching  dream 

And  pictured  scheme 
To  match  the  fact  still  want  the  power  : 

Thy  promise  brave 

From  birth  to  grave 
Life's  boon  may  beggar  in  an  hour. 

Ask  and  receive,  — 'tis  sweetly  said: 
Yet  what  to  plead  for,  know  I  not ; 
For  Wish  is  worsted,  Hope  o'ersped, 
And  aye  to  thanks  returns  my  thought. 
If  I  would  pray, 
I've  naught  to  say 

But  this,  that  God  may  be  God  still ; 
For  him  to  live 
Is  still  to  give, 
And  sweeter  than  my  wish  his  will. 


ALVS    WELL.  125 

0  wealth  of  life  beyond  all  bound ! 
Eternity  each  moment  given  ! 

What  plummet  may  the  Present  sound  ? 
Who  promises  a  future  heaven  ? 

Or  glad,  or  grieved, 

Oppressed,  relieved, 
In  blackest  night,  or  brightest  day, 

Still  pours  the  flood 

Of  golden  good, 
And  more  than  heartfull  fills  me  aye. 

My  wealth  is  common  ;  I  possess 

No  petty  province,  but  the  whole  : 
What's  mine  alone  is  mine  far  less 
Than  treasure  shared  by  every  soul. 

Talk  not  of  store, 

Millions  or  more,  — 
Of  values  which  the  purse  may  hold,  — 

But  this  divine  ! 

I  own  the  mine 
Whose  grains  outweigh  a  planet's  gold. 

1  have  a  stake  in  every  star, 

In  every  beam  that  fills  the  day ; 
All  hearts  of  men  my  coffers  are, 
My  ores  arterial  tides  convey ; 


126  ALVS    WELL. 

The  fields,  the  skies, 

And  sweet  replies 
Of  thought  to  thought  are  my  gold-dust, 

The  oaks,  the  brooks, 

And  speaking  looks 
Of  lovers'  faith  and  friendship's  trust. 

Life's  youngest  tides  joy-brimming  flow 

For  him  who  lives  above  all  years, 
Who  all-immortal  makes  the  Now, 

And  is  not  ta'en  in  Time's  arrears  : 

His  life's  a  hymn 

The  seraphim 
Might  hark  to  hear  or  help  to  sing, 

And  to  his  soul 

The  boundless  whole 
Its  bounty  all  doth  daily  bring. 

"All  mine  is  thine,"  the  sky-soul  saith ; 

"  The  wealth  I  am,  must  thou  become  : 
Richer  and  richer,  breath  by  breath,  — 
Immortal  gain,  immortal  room  !  " 
And  since  all  his 
Mine  also  is, 


ALL'S   WELL.  127 

Life's  gift  outruns  my  fancies  far, 

And  drowns  the  dream 

In  larger  stream, 
As  morning  drinks  the  morning-star. 

Worcester,  1857. 


128  JOY-MONTH. 


JOY-MONTH. 

OH,  hark  to  the  brown  thrush !  hear  how  he  sings ! 

How  he  pours  the  dear  pain  of  his  gladness  ! 
What  a  gush  !  and  from  out  what  golden  springs  ! 

What  a  rage  of  how  sweet  madness  ! 

And  golden  the  buttercup  blooms  by  the  way, 

A  song  of  the  joyous  ground  ; 
While  the  melody  rained  from  yonder  spray 

Is  a  blossom  in  fields  of  sound. 

How  glisten  the  eyes  of  the  happy  leaves  I 
How  whispers  each  blade,  "  I  am  blest !  " 

Rosy  Heaven  his  lips  to  flowered  earth  gives, 
With  the  costliest  bliss  of  his  breast. 

Pour,  pour  of  the  wine  of  thy  heart,  O  Nature  ! 

By  cups  of  field  and  of  sky, 
By  the  brimming  soul  of  every  creature  !  — 

Joy-mad,  dear  Mother,  am  I. 


JOY-MOST  H.  129 

Tongues,    tongues   for   my  joy,    for  my   joy !   more 
tongues !  — 

Oh,  thanks  to  the  thrush  on  the  tree, 
To  the  sky,  and  to  all  earth's  blooms  and  songs  ! 

They  utter  the  heart  in  me. 

Aug.  27,  1858. 


130  SEEN  AND    UNSEEN. 


SEEN  AND    UNSEEN. 

THE  wind  ahead,  the  billows  high, 
A  whited  wave,  but  sable  sky, 
And  many  a  league  of  tossing  sea 
Between  the  hearts  I  love  and  me. 

The  wind  ahead  ;  day  after  day 

These  weary  words  the  sailors  say : 

To  weeks  the  days  are  lengthened  now,  — 

Still  mounts  the  surge  to  meet  our  prow. 

Through  longing  day  and  lingering  night, 
I  still  accuse  Time's  lagging  flight, 
Or  gaze  out  o'er  the  envious  sea, 
That  keeps  the  hearts  I  love  from  me. 

Yet,  ah,  how  shallow  is  all  grief! 
How  instant  is  the  deep  relief ! 
And  what  a  hypocrite  am  I, 
To  feign  forlorn,  to  'plain  and  sigh ! 


SEEN  AND    UNSEEN.  131 

The  wind  ahead  ?     The  wind  is  free  ! 
Forever  more  it  favoreth  me,  — 
To  shores  of  God  still  blowing  fair. 
O'er  seas  of  God  my  barque  doth  bear. 

This  surging  brine  /  do  not  sail, 
This  blast  adverse  is  not  my  gale : 
'Tis  here  I  only  seem  to  be, 
But  really  sail  another  sea,  — 

Another  sea,  pure  sky  its  waves, 

Whose  beauty  hides  no  heaving  graves,  — 

A  sea  all  haven,  whereupon 

Xo  hapless  barque  to  wreck  hath  gone. 

The  winds  that  o'er  my  ocean  run 
Reach  through  all  heavens  beyond  the  sun  ; 
Through  life  and  death,  through  fate,  through  time, 
Grand  breaths  of  God,  they  sweep  sublime. 

Eternal  trades,  they  cannot  veer, 
And,  blowing,  teach  us  how  to  steer ; 
And  well  for  him  whose  joy,  whose  care, 
Is  but  to  keep  before  them  fair. 


132  SEEN  AND    UNSEEN. 

O  thou  God's  mariner,  heart  of  mine, 
Spread  canvas  to  the  airs  divine ! 
Spread  sail !  and  let  thy  Fortune  be 
Forgotten  in  thy  Destiny  ! 

For  Destiny  pursues  us  well, 

By  sea,  by  land,  through  heaven  or  hell : 

It  suffers  Death  alone  to  die, 

Bids  Life  all  change  and  chance  defy. 

Would  earth's  dark  ocean  suck  thee  down  ? 
Earth's  ocean  thou,  O  Life  !  shalt  drown, 
Shalt  flood  it  with  thy  finer  wave, 
And,  sepulchred,  entomb  thy  grave ! 

Life  loveth  life  and  good :  then  trust 
What  most  the  spirit  would,  it  must  : 
Deep  wishes,  in  the  heart  that  be, 
Are  blossoms  of  Necessity. 

A  thread  of  Law  runs  through  thy  prayer, 
Stronger  than  iron  cables  are  ; 
And  Love  and  Longing  toward  her  goal 
Are  pilots  sweet  to  guide  the  Soul. 


SEEN  AND    UNSEEN.  133 

So  Life  must  live,  and  Soul  must  sail, 
And  Unseen  over  Seen  prevail. 
And  all  God's  argosies  come  to  shore, 
Let  ocean  smile,  or  rage  and  roar. 

And  so,  'mid  storm  or  calm,  my  barque 
With  snowy  wake  still  nears  her  mark  : 
Cheerly  the  trades  of  being  blow, 
And  sweeping  down  the  wind  I  go. 

August,  1858. 


134  THE  MYSTIC. 


THE     MYSTIC. 


THE  Secret  of  the  World  is  lowly, 
Self-sung  nigh  my  pleading  ear ; 

It  presses  close,  enchanting,  holy, 
Murmuring,  —  what,  I  cannot  hear  : 

A  dream  embosoming  all  my  waking, 
Solace  shaming  all  my  fear. 

In  hours  serenest  and  profoundest, 
List  I  'yond  the  breadth  of  time : 

Over  the  sea  of  calm  Thou  soundest; 
Now  I  catch  the  tune,  the  rhyme, 

And  now  shall  know  !  —  Alas  !  the  silence 
Ripples,  broken ;  dies  the  chime. 

Partial,  the  universal  Mother 

Tells  her  secret  to  the  stars  ; 
And  they  intone  it  each  to  other, 

Trooping  in  their  silver  cars. 


THE  MYSTIC.  135 

Winging  and  witching  comes  the  echo, 
But  mine  ear  the  meaning  bars. 


When  the  sunlight,  nether  flooding, 
Rains  its  richness  down  the  sky, 

The  Fact  on  every  beam  is  brooding, 
And  on  every  leaf  an  eye 

Implanteth,  where  the  dauntless,  dimless, 
Godlike  vision  I  espy. 

The  psalmist  pine-tree,  sounding,  sweeping 

One  great  chord  forevermore  ; 
Deep-chested  Ocean's  chant,  as,  keeping 

Time  upon  the  throbbing  shore, 
His  billowy  palm  still  falls  and  rises,  — 

Both  recount  that  wondrous  lore. 

The  World  is  rich,  it  hath  possession  ; 

Joy  of  wealth  fills  land  and  sea ; 
The  fields  in  bloom,  the  stars  in  session, 

Birds  and  blades  on  bough  and  lea, 
All  know  the  truth,  the  joy,  the  wonder, 

Not  revealed  to  man,  to  me. 


136  THE  MYSTIC. 

Nature,  be  just  in  thy  bestowing ! 

Best  to  best  shouldst  thou  confide. 
Oh !  why  from  him,  whose  bliss  is  knowing, 

Knowledge,  cruel,  dost  thou  hide  ? 
Since,  that  withholden,  naught  is  given ; 

Given,  naught  withheld  beside. 


THE  MYSTIC.  137 


e.— 


A  goblet  drained  is  all  my  knowing,  — 
Cnp  whence  I  have  quaffed  the  wine  : 
From  out  the  Unknown  comes  the  flowing 

o 

And  exhaustless  juice  divine, 
That  lends  the  blood  its  priceless  crimson, 
And  the  eye  its  living  shine. 

Embrace  me,  Mystery  of  Being  ; 

Fill  my  arteries,  flood  my  brain, 
And  through  me  pour  thy  heart,  till  seeing, 

Thought,  are  drowned,  like  dew  in  rain, 
In  powerful,  pure  participation  : 

Separate  life  is  separate  pain. 

Temple  unseen  of  Truth  immortal, 

Thought  hath  brought  me  to  thy  door  ; 

Never  passes  he  the  portal, 

I  am  drawn  the  threshold  o'er  ; 

And  lo!  I  am  a  leaf  that  quivers 
In  God's  joy-wind  evermore  ! 


138  THE  MYSTIC. 

Now  are  the  light-waves  round  me  rolling, 
Now  the  love-tides  through  me  run, 

Body  and  soul  anew  ensouling : 
Seeing  and  being  melt  in  one. 

The  ear  is  self-same  with  the  music, 
Beam  with  vision,  eye  with  sun. 


THE  FLOODS.  139 


THE  FLOODS. 

[En  fHcmorg  of  3a\j\\  33rofon.] 


LOOK  how  a  river,  brimmed,  then  heaped  yet  more, 
Will  drown  his  banks,  and  flood  the  regions  nigh, 

Spreading,  with  bounty  terrible,  the  store 
Of  melting  mountain  and  dissolving  sky. 

So  may  a  soul  of  power,  an  Amazon 

Of    heavenly    purpose,  —  being    o'ergraced    with 

good,  — 
Break  from  the  banks  of  prudence,  rolling  on 

A  kingdom's  quiet  his  aggression  rude. 

And  as,  before  the  unappeased  urge 

Of  influence  hurrying  from  the  heart  of  heaven, 
He  rises,  widens  'yond  all  wonted  verge  .  .  . 

Still  on  ...  o'er  hold  and  hearth  of  Custom  driven, 

We  that,  mayhap,  see  Order  in  the  guise 
Of  our  own  safety  only,  cry,  "  Behold, 

These  forces  rude  the  name  of  Law  despise  ; 
They  mock  it  in  their  foray  fierce  and  bold." 


140  THE  FLOODS. 

Hidden  from  timid  eyes  the  truth  will  be ! 

For  lo  !  the  deluge,  too,  is  Order's  child ; 
Its  waters  hasten  but  from  sky  to  sea ; 

And,  though  we  citizens  may  deem  them  wild, 

They  journey  as  they  must,  —  while  straying,  still 
Chasing  their  lawful  channel  where  it  goes, 

Nor  wid'ning  but  by  affluence  of  that  Will, 
Which  out  of  heaven  beyond  containing  flows. 

And  when,  at  length,  their  swelling  tides  are  gone, 
The  plain  lies  higher ;  and  the  fertile  shore 

Is  farther  stretched  by  that  alluvion, 

Whose  Avealth  the  deluge  in  its  bosom  bore. 

Oh !  from  earth's  history  were  the  floods  away, 
Not  well  had  ripened  here  the  cosmic  plan ; 

For  many  a  happy  harvester  to-day 

Gathers  in  golden  corn  their  gifts  to  man. 

And  from  the  record  of  man's  deed  and  thought 
Were  razed  out  that  deluge-height  of  soul, 

Which  makes  the  fountained  bosom  all  too  fraught 
To  yield  effect  by  nice  and  legal  dole,  — 


THE  FLOODS.  141 

Sure,  men  would  hiss  their  drawling  destinies, 

And  hist'ry  creep,  as  'twere,  through  cowherd  lanes. 

Deep  ran  the  plough  where  high  the  harvest  is : 
The  man-child  breathes  but  by  a  mother's  pains. 

1858  (?). 


142  VOLUNTEER   SONG. 


VOLUNTEER  SONG. 

ffnscrtfoeti  to  tfjc  £tomtg;fi£tf)  Hrgtmcnt,  Jfl.F. 

Lo  !  God  and  the  star-banner  o'er  us, 

And  the  foes  of  them  both  before  us ! 

Each  drop  of  our  blood  is  due  Freedom  and  Right, 

And  the  debt  we  will  own  on  the  red  field  of  fight. 

To  our  veins  does  Liberty  lend  it, 

And  'tis  hers  to  spare  or  to  spend  it. 

And  where  is  the  caitiff,  the  craven, 

Who,  moored  in  Liberty's  haven, 

Her  peril  prays  not  to  assume  for  his  own, 

Nor  would  shame  to  be  safe,  and  she  overthrown  ? 

If  Freedom  must  die,  then  dying 

Is  the  bliss  for  which  we  are  sighing. 

If  Freedom  must  perish,  each  breath  is 

More  woe  than  ever  in  death  is ; 

But  if  Liberty,  Law,  and  the  Rights  of  the  Race 

Are  enthroned  in  the  end,  that  joy  will  efface, 


VOLUNTEER    SONG.  143 

Will  turn  to  delight,  all  the  sorrow 
From  the  fate  of  to-day  we  can  borrow. 

The  flag  that  our  fathers  uplifted, 

The  heart  of  two  hemispheres  gifted 

With  a  heaven  of  hope  ;  and  the  joy  that  they  gave 

Shall  their  sons,  all  degen'rate,  but  dig  it  a  grave  ? 

Shall  the  eyes  grow  dim  that  had  brightened, 

And  leaden  the  hearts  that  were  lioiitened  ? 


No :  knees  do  not  tremble  and  falter, 

That  have  knelt  at  Liberty's  altar. 

If  a  faith  to  believe  and  a  courage  to  dare, 

The  hope  of  the  world  make  us  worthy  to  bear, 

Then  the  work  to  the  workman  is  fitted, 

And  the  trust  to  true  hands  committed. 


Yea,  America's  sons  will  forever 

To  her  destiny  pay  their  endeavor : 

To  her  call  full  oft  they  have  answered  in  words, 

And  now  will  respond  with  the  steel  of  their  swords, 

So  clashing  a  prayer  up  to  heaven 

That  Justice  on  earth  may  be  given. 


144  VOLUNTEER   SONG. 

Right  bravely  our  foemen  can  hate  us  — 

Let  us  see  if  in  battle  they  mate  us. 

Hard  hands  to  hard  hearts  toiling  freemen  oppose, 

And  the  lack  of   base   hate  they  Avill   make    up   in 

blows ; 

And  blows  be  the  only  favors 
We  pray  of  the  pirate  enslavers ! 

All  laws  under  foot  they  have  trampled, 

And  the  sin  of  all  time  they  have  ampled  : 

They  have   loaded  our  land  with   the   woes  of   the 

slave  ; 
They  have  murdered  our  men,  and  denied  them   a 

grave  ; 

Our  women  have  robbed,  set  in  prison, 
And  now  in  mad  anus  thev  have  risen. 


And  we  swear,  by  the  Heaven  above  us, 

By  the  hearts  of  the  women  that  love  us, 

By  the   babes   at   our   hearths,    by   our   own   right 

hand, 

From  the  rule  of  the  brute  we  will  succor  the  land, 
To  Justice  will  give  due  dominion, 
To  her  foes  due  halter  and  pinion. 


VOLUNTEER    SONG.  145 

The  right  shall  prevail,  —  we  have  said  it  ! 

We  have  marked  out  our  path,  and  we'll  tread  it : 

And  the  will  of  true  men  by  no  fate  can  be  crossed ; 

Their  blood  may  be  spilled,  but  can  never  be  lost. 

All  the  sweet  veins  of  Nature  conserve  it, 

And  they're  victors  at  last  who  deserve  it. 

Worcester,  1862. 


14(3  TO   GENERAL 


TO    GENERAL 


[Upon  his  declaration  at  a  public  meeting  in  New  York  that  the 
rebellion  must  be  subdued,  though  it  should  cost  the  nation  its  last 
dollar  and  last  drop  of  blood. J 

WEAKLING,  be  silent !     Silence  was  thine  art, 
Thy  trap  to  catch  men's  worship,  when  the  State 
Fancied  thy  words  so  few  because  so  great, 

So  seeded  with  effect,  thy  mind  and  heart. 

Nor  yet  did  word  of  brave  rebuking  start 

From  out  those  lips  when  traitors,  thy  false  fame 
Procuring,  gilded  treason  with  thy  name, 

And  from  thy  fustian  riches  stocked  their  mart. 
Oh !    them  couldst  let  them    king   thee,   tho'   thy 
throne 

Must  be  the  altar  whereon  Freedom  died  ; 

But  now,  their  bubble  burst,  and  burst  thine  own, 

That  silence  ends.     Nay,  keep  it !     Long  it  lied, 
Deceiving  most :    now  let  it,  to  atone, 

Thy  bloated  littleness  confess  and  hide. 

May  8,  1863. 


IN  ME  MOBY  OF  DR.    S.   F.   HAVEN.  14" 


IN  MEMORY  OF  DR.  S.  F.  HAVEN, 

OF  WORCESTER,  MASS.,  SURGEON  OF  THE  FIFTEENTH  MASSACHU 
SETTS  REGIMENT  VOLUNTEERS,  WHO  FELL  AT  FREDERICKSBURG, 
DEC.  13,  1802. 

WITH  skilful  hand  lie  turned  away 

Death's  wishful  hand  from  wounded  men  ; 

But  when  was  done  that  doleful  day, 
The  living  laid  him  with  the  slain. 

Thy  hurt  to  heal,  O  native  land  ! 

What  mortal  might,  he  did  and  dared ; 
And  when  the  service  of  his  hand 

Seemed  not  enough,  his  heart  he  bared, 

And  laid  his  life  upon  the  hurt, 
By  losing  all  to  make  thee  whole, 

But  could  not  lose  his  high  desert, 
And  place  on  memory's  record-roll ; 

And  when  that  sacred  roll  she  calls, 

The  word,  perchance,  will  reach  his  ear, 

And  he  shall  from  tir  eternal  halls, 
Among  God's  angels,  answer,  "  Here  ! ' 


148  IN  MEMORY  OF  DR.    S.    F.    HAVEN. 

We  will  not  say  his  life  was  brief, 
For  noble  death  is  length  of  days: 

The  sun  that  ripens  autumn's  sheaf 
Has  poured  a  summer  wealth  of  rays. 

Worcester,  December,  1862. 


IDEALS.  149 


IDEALS. 

ANGELS  of  Growth,  of  old  in  that  surprise 
Of  your  first  vision,  wild  and  sweet, 

I  poured  in  passionate  sighs 

My  wish  unwise 
That  ye  descend  my  heart  to  meet,  — 

My  heart  so  slow  to  rise  ! 

Now  thus  I  pray  :  Angelic  be  to  hold 
In  heaven  your  shining  poise  afar, 

And  to  my  wishes  bold, 

Reply  with  cold 
Sweet  invitation,  like  a  star 

Fixed  in  the  heavens  old. 

Did  ye  descend,  what  were  ye  more  than  I  ? 
Is't  not  by  this  ye  are  divine, 

That,  native  to  the  sky, 

Ye  cannot  hie 
Downward,  and  give  low  hearts  the  wine 

That  should  reward  the  high  ? 


150  IDEALS. 

Weak,  yet,  in  weakness  I  no  more  complain 
Of  your  abiding  in  your  places ; 

Oh  !  still,  howe'er  my  pain 

Wild  prayers  may  rain, 
Keep  pure  on  high  the  perfect  graces, 

That  stooping  could  but  stain. 

Not  to  content  our  lowness,  but  to  lure 
And  lift  us  to  your  angelhood, 

Do  your  surprises  pure, 

Dawn  far  and  sure 
Above  the  tumult  of  young  blood, 

And  starlike  there  endure. 

Wait  there,  wait  and  invite  me  while  I  climb, 
For  see,  I  come  !  —  but  slow,  but  slow  ! 

Yet  ever  as  your  chime, 

Soft  and  sublime, 
Lifts  at  my  feet,  they  move,  they  go 

Up  the  great  stair  of  time. 


1866. 


THE  PLOVER.  151 


THE   PLOVER. 

L 

WOE  to  the  winging  plover  ! 

Flames  from  an  idle  gun 
Flash,  and  her  flight  is  over,  — 

Flight  and  life  in  one. 

Swallows  yet  dart  and  hover, 

Thinning  the  insect  host ; 
Bees  on  the  purple  clover 

Levy  their  sweet  impost ; 
Bobolinks,  briefly  flying, 

Warble  while  on  the  wing ; 
Mowers,  manfully  plying 

Arms  with  a  rhythmic  swing, 
Smile  when  the  troller  rollick 

Bards  it  away  so  blithe, 
Or  his  aery  frolic 

Drown  with  the  whetted  scythe  ; 


152  THE  PLOVER. 

Rills,  in  melody  running, 

Silver  the  solar  ray ; 
Age,  its  gray  life  sunning, 

Purls  of  the  balmy  day  ; 
Youths,  on  the  river  rowing, 

Path  it  with  fading  foam  ; 
Maids  on  the  tide  are  strowing 

Leaves,  that,  adrift,  become 
Barques  of  the  fine  romances 

Writ  in  their  dreamful  eyes, 
Barques  for  their  faery  fancies, 

Freighted  with  s\veet  surmise. 

Fluttering  falls  the  plover, 

Flutter  and  life  soon  over. 

Earth  recks  not  of  its  death, 

Bates  not  her  joyous  breath : 

Still  the  virgin's  face  all  its  blooming  hath ; 

All  its  bliss,  the  eye  of  her  lover. 


THE  PLOVER.  153 


H. 

Deemed  you  the  sun,  in  shining, 

Shinecl  for  the  living  alone  ? 
Deemed  of  the  dead  as  resigning 

O  O 

Love's  and  Laughter's  tone  ? 
Banish  the  thought  that  grieveth 

Sorely  thy  sighful  breast : 
Banish,  for  it  bereaveth 

Ever  thy  soul  of  rest. 
Life  his  dwelling  leaveth 

But  as  a  bird  its  nest,  — 
But  as  a  bird,  that,  soaring, 

Flees  from  the  winter's  cold, 
Surely  and  swiftly  oaring 

Way  to  a  bloomy  hold. 
Self-same  sun  above  him, 

Groves  and  green  beneath, 
Sweet  bird-hearts  to  love  him, 

Sweet  old  songs  to  breathe, 
Blest  by  dew  and  dawning, 

Fanned  by  the  zephyr's  play, 
Hid  by  the  leafy  awning 

All  the  hot  mid-day. 


154  THE  PLOVER. 

Fluttering  fell  the  plover, 

Flutter  and  life  soon  over  ; 

But,  in  the  evening  calm, 

Fell  on  my  heart,  as  balm, 

A  breathing  of  bliss,  an  unsyllabled  psalm, 

That  in  words  I  would  thus  recover. 


SCIPIO    TO    TLLE   SENATE.  155 


SCIPIO    TO    THE   SENATE. 

[Scipio  the  Great,  when  his  brother  was  accused  of  peculation, 
with  some  suspicion  of  his  own  complicity,  tore  in  pieces  the 
accounts,  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  flung  them  down  in  the 
face  of  the  Senate,  refusing  to  put  his  honor  in  question.] 

QUESTIONED  in  trust  and  honor,  I  could  speak, 
Nor  aught  that  honor  might  disclose  would  spare  ; 

Questioned  in  doubt,  —  excusing  words  were  weak 
And  coward  breaths,  to  shame  their  kindred  air. 


Ye  that  can  doubt  me,  pass  in  silence  by : 
Bury  my  name,  nor  greet  me  with  a  word ! 

My  truth  is  deaf  to  challenge  of  a  lie  : 

Not  with  that  champion  does  it  cross  the  sword, 

Have  I,  then,  walked  among  you  all  these  years 

A  dubious  phantom,  true  or  false  unknown? 
And  ye,  forsooth,  would  have  to  lay  your  fears, 
My  doubted  faith  by  proof  of  parchment  shown  ? 


156  SCIPIO    TO    THE  SENATE. 

Never  from  me  !  I  tear  the  proofs  to  shreds, 
And  strow  them  here  upon  the  senate  floor ; 

Ye  that  know  not  a  man,  go  make  your  beds 

Upon  your  thorniest  thoughts:  vex  me  no  more. 

Oh  I  ye  could  trust  me  in  your  hour  of  need, 
When  the  grim  foe  was  menacing  your  gates  ; 

But  saved  your  shrewd  suspicion  for  my  meed 
When  I  had  made  you  masters  of  your  fates ! 

Asked  ye  for  parchments  when  the  power  of  Home 
To  foreign  shores  I  led  in  stern  array? 

Called  ye  for  parchments  when,  returning  home, 
I  brought  you  victory,  beauteous  as  the  day  ? 

Your  fate,  as  my  sword's  hilt,  was  in  my  hand  : 
I  came  a  conqueror,  but  bent  the  knee, 

By  faith  subdued,  and  lowly  to  my  land 

Gave  that  in  power  that  came  in  want  to  me. 

And  now  in  power  behold  ye  come  to  say, 

"  Hast  thou  not  filched  our  coins  ?     Speak,  give  us 
proof ! " 

Nay,  pawn  your  doubt  to  win  another ;  play 
Your  game  of  question :  proud,  I  stand  aloof. 


SCIPIO    TO    THE   SEX  ATE.  157 

There  !  gather  up  these  fragments,  if  ye  will, 

And  mouse  among  them,  pore,  compare,  and  scan. 

When  of  that  labor  ye  have  had  your  till, 
Go  learn  the  art  of  arts,  to  know  a  Man  ! 


1861 


158  TIME. 


TIME. 

—  JFrom 


"  I  have  a  tyrant-master,  Time, 

Whose  small  apprentice  I  am  bound 
To  each  desire  of  his  must  rhyme 

My  ceaseless  duty  in  servile  round. 
Two  haughty  officers,  Night  and  Day, 
Still  whip  and  wind  me  every  way  : 
Were  Destiny  my  better  friend, 
This  hard  apprenticeship  had  end  !  " 


££.  —  JFrom 

"  There  is  a  shadowy  weaver,  Time, 

Thwarting  his  threads  below  me  far  : 

With  lidless  eye,  from  height  sublime, 
I  look  upon  him,  like  a  star, 

But  dwell  in  calm,  cerulean  sky, 

Above  that  region  where  his  ply 

Makes  changing  season  and  chequered  year, 

Eternity  my  mansion  here  !  " 

1869. 


TO  Jr.  L.  G.  159 


TO    W.    L.    G. 

THOU  who  art  ours  and  all  men's  friend, 

Whom  Nature  gave  to  be  and  spend 

Her  dearest  treasure,  love  and  truth, 

And  justice  joined  with  tender  ruth, 

When  now  returns  thy  natal  day, 

What  for  thee  should  our  wishes  pray  ? 

What  wish  we  for  the  silver  star 

Whose  beam  doth  kiss  our  eyes  from  far  ? 

Enough  for  it  a  star  to  be, 

Enough  for  us  its  light  to  see. 

What  wish  we  for  the  breathing  rose, 

That,  filled  with  grace  and  sweetness  blows, 

And  its  fair  petals  spreads  about 

To  let  the  fragrant  spirit  out? 

Its  being  is  its  blessing  best ; 

And  we  in  it  are  also  blest, 

If  often  we  may  hither  come 

To  taste  its  fragrance,  see  its  bloom. 


160  TO    W.   L.    G. 

O  friend !  we  wish  tliee  naught  to-day, 
Thy  presence  takes  the  power  away ; 
And  joyous  while  that  grace  is  lent, 
We  hail  the  hour,  and  are  content. 

Jan.  21,  1884. 


NOTES. 


[The  dates  of  the  poems  have  been  given  when  known,  and  in  a  few  instances 
when  the  subject  made  the  time  of  the  occurrence  evident  and  important.] 

BABES  OF  GOD. 

In  one  instance  a  line  was  so  obviously  defective,  that 
with  great  reluctance  I  have  supplied  a  word.  It  stands 
in  Mr.  AVassou's  version,  — 

''In  that  most  presence  —  joy  to  see." 

••That"  is  crossed.  In  restoring  "that,"  and  adding 
an  adjective,  I  am  not  sure  of  having  given  his  meaning, 
but  I  have  made  it  possible  to  read. 

SONNETS  ON  FREMONT. 

These  were  undoubtedly  written  soon  after  Fremont 
issued  his  famous  proclamation  of  emancipation,  Aug. 
31.  1861. 

SONNETS  ON  G.  L.  STEARNS. 

George  L.  Stearns,  born  in  Medford,  Mass.,  about 
1812;  died  in  New  York,  April  9,  1807.  He  first  came 
prominently  to  public  notice  in  1856,  when  he  was  in 

161 


162  NOTES. 

active  business,  with  a  large  income,  which  he  devoted 
liberally  to  the  service  of  freedom.  He  was  chairman  of 
the  Massachusetts  State  Kansas  Committee  from  July, 
1856,  till  that  organization  dissolved.  While  holding  this 
position,  he  won  the  friendship  of  JOHN  BROWN,  the 
Kansas  hero.  At  the  funeral  of  Major  Stearns  in  Med- 
ford,  April  14,  1867,  Mr.  Emerson  said,  "  Capt.  John 
Brown  was  not  only  an  extraordinary  man,  but  one  who 
had  a  rare  magnetism  for  men  of  character,  and  attached 
some  of  the  best  and  noblest  to  him  by  lasting  ties.  Mr. 
Stearns  made  himself  at  once  necessary  to  Capt.  Brown, 
as  one  who  respected  his  inspirations,  and  had  the  mag 
nanimity  to  trust  him  entirely,  and  to  arm  his  hands  with 
all  needed  help."  His  connection  with  this  famous  man 
was  every  way  honorable  to  both ;  and,  after  Brown's 
execution,  Mr.  Stearns  devoted  himself  more  directly  to 
the  emancipation  and  elevation  of  the  slaves  in  the  civil 
war,  which  soon  followed.  In  1863  he  began  to  enlist 
colored  soldiers  for  the  Union  armies,  and  in  this  service 
received  from  Secretary  Stanton  the  military  rank  of 
major,  by  which  he  was  afterwards  generally  known.  He 
enlisted  more  soldiers  of  this  class  than  any  other  person, 
and  gave  thousands  of  dollars  to  the  national  cause.  Of 
his  sudden  death,  Emerson  said,  "It  is  sad  that  such  a 
life  should  end  prematurely  ;  but  when  I  consider  that  he 
lived  long  enough  to  see  with  his  own  eyes  the  salvation 
of  his  country,  to  which  he  had  given  all  his  heart ;  that 


NOTES. 

he  did  not  know  an  idle  day  ;  was  never  called  to  suffer 
under  the  decay  and  loss  of  his  powers,  or  to  see  that 
others  were  waiting  for  his  place  and  privilege,  but  lived 
while  he  lived,  and  beheld  his  work  prosper  for  the  joy 
and  benefit  of  all  mankind,  — I  count  him  happy  among 
men." 

Mr.  Stearns  married  Mary  Preston,  a  niece  of  Rev. 
Dr.  Francis  ;  and  they  lived  with  simple  and  generous 
hospitality  at  their  villa  in  Hertford,  where  Mr.  AVasson 
was  for  a  long  time  their  guest.  His  son,  Francis  Preston 
Stearns,  has  placed  a  headstone  over  the  grave  of  Mr. 
Wasson,  at  Concord  ;  thus  perpetuating  the  friendship  of 
his  family  for  our  poet  and  thinker. 


SONNET   TO  FIFTY-FOURTH    REGIMENT    OF   MASSACHUSETTS 

VOLUNTEERS. 

This  was  the  first  Massachusetts  colored  regiment 
raised  by  Gov.  Andrew,  and  commanded  by  Col.  Robert 
G.  Shaw.  Its  heroic  record  answered  to  this  appeal,  and 
filled  the  *•  heavens  with  rejoicing,"  even  though  the 
young  hero  lay  buried  4k  with  his  niggers,"  noblest  of 
guards,  about  him. 

ALL'S  WELL. 

This  exquisite  lyric  expresses  the  triumph  of  the  soul, 
re-acting;  from  the  most  intense  suffering  and  weakness. 


164  NOTES. 

The  first  word  was  sometimes  written  ''triumphant"  or 
"prophetic;  "  but  I  have  preferred  what  I  believe  to  be 
the  original  reading,  which  Mr.  Wasson  retained  in  print 
ing  it,  first  in  "The  Atlantic  Monthly,"  and  afterwards 

in  "  The  Radical." 

» 

SEEN  AND  UNSEEN. 

Written  at  sea,  fifty  days  out,  twelve  hundred  miles 
from  the  American  shore.  The  long-,  tedious  voyage, 
without  the  hoped-for  benefit  to  his  health,  could  not 
darken  his  hope  and  faith.  Like  the  nightingale,  his  song 
gushed  forth  as  the  shadows  gathered  about  him. 

TIME. 

These  couplets  were  printed  at  the  cud  of  a  short  but 
very  beautiful  essay  in  "The  Radical,"  called  "At  Full 
Speed." 

SONNETS  TO  ANDKKW  JOHNSON. 

These  sonnets  well  express  the  generous  trust,  and  yet 
trembling  hope,  with  which  the  noblest  of  the  nation 
greeted  Johnson,  when  he  was  so  unexpectedly  raised  to 
the  presidency  by  the  murder  of  Lincoln. 

Mr.  Wasson  felt  the  disappointment  of  his  hope  very 
bitterly,  and  preached  a  very  severe  sermon  on  the  con 
duct  of  the  President. 


NOTES.  165 

To  IRISH-BORN  AMERICANS. 

Mr.  Wasson  was  very  much  excited  by  the  atrocious 
murders  in  Ireland  at  this  time,  and  spoke  strongly  as  lie 

felt. 

PHCEBUS-CARLYLE. 

This  is  evidently  an  early  poem.  "  Sartor  Resartus  " 
fell  into  Mr.  AVasson's  hands  when  he  was  a  student  in 
Maine,  and  made  a  profound  impression  upon  him. 

JOY-MONTH. 

This  sweet  little  poem  was  written  at  sea  on  his  boy's 
birthday,  from  recollection  of  a  June  morning. 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
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Vila  s  son 


Poems 


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952 
W323 

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M193206 


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